Shatterglass
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: When Vlad frames Danny and exposes his secret identity, our hero must flee for his life as the world begins hunting him. But even as Danny's persecuted by those he's sworn to protect, Vlad's plot may require him to make the ultimate sacrifice… COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Men are more prone to revenge injuries than to requite kindness.__" -__Thomas Fuller_

Chapter 1: Things Fall Apart

(A/N: I wanna be straight with everyone and state, for the record, that this fic is NOT a continuity of "The New Adventures of Danny Phantom," and that Statler and Waldorf are NOT in this story. This is, after all, an angst/drama story, so comedy takes a backseat _this _time around. One last thing: the theme song of this fic is "Invincible" from the MMORPG "World of Warcraft." If you like, you may find it on Youtube by a user named "PhantaxZdC." ^^)

It was a gorgeous, sunny morning that saw young Danny Fenton, hero extraordinaire, humming softly to himself under the throaty roar of the school bus's engines. Had the large vehicle's inner workings not mingled with the loud cacophony of students' chatter, it would have been an almost idyllic scene. There was not a single, puffy white cloud amongst the vast expanse of endless blue sky, and the sun glimmered and shone merrily like an orb of liquid gold as it bathed the streets in its life-giving warmth. If one listened closely, he might just hear snatches of birds' song beneath the puttering and stuttering of motor traffic as the fathers and husbands of Amity Park made a pilgrimage to their places of employment. The very air carried some inexplicable undercurrent of optimism and promise, and Danny smiled to himself as his hometown came to life on this fine spring morning.

Spring, indeed, was here at last. The butter-colored heads of dandelions defiantly thrust upward through the last remnants of winter's snowdrift, and the trees and bushes that had for so long been barren now sported an explosion of budding leaves and flowers. The bright, new green of fresh chlorophyll-scented leaves jostled for room amongst flower petals of azure blue, crimson red, royal purple and purest white. The morning breeze carried with it a sweet floral scent as it blew lazily about, and it would have seemed almost like an expensive perfume had it not been laced with the earthy aroma of fresh, dark soil. Slowly but surely, Mother Nature was freeing Amity from Old Man Winter's icy grip, and a feeling of renewal and rebirth pervaded all as the land was once again reborn.

Unfortunately, Danny was the only one to take any notice of nature's glory as the doors of the characteristically yellow bus opened with a sharp, pneumatic hiss. This triggered a frantic stamped of rushing humanity that would have been more appropriate for the African Serengeti rather than the inside of a school bus.

It was true, Danny thought wryly, that the mass exodus that followed the dismissal bell each afternoon would make even a herd of rampaging elephants dive out of the way.

But it was not to the familiar brick structure of Casper High that the large, mustard-colored vehicle came to a lurching halt that fateful morn. Rather, it was beneath the impressive classical-style colonnade of City Hall that found young Danny Fenton fanning away the stinging fumes of gasoline and motor oil.

It was, Danny conceded, an impressive structure. The elaborate marble staircase upon which he trod was polished with such care that he could see his own reflection in it. On either side, flanking the tall flight of heavy stone steps, stood two large, heavy statues carved of stark grey granite. At over seven feet in height, their somewhat worn and eroded faces were a testament to their age, the masterpiece of some long-gone artisan who had crafted them with so much care that the sculptures seemed ready to spring to life at any minute.

The statue on Danny's left depicted an armored knight, his head and knees bowed so as to give him a humble, subservient countenance that contrasted jarringly with the formidable-looking armor in which he was clad. The warrior's gauntleted arms and hands were outstretched with his palms facing upward, and his face bore an expression of loyalty and duty while he forever offered the blade in he held to all who passed him by. It was simple yet powerful image of selflessness, and the statue's silent message was reinforced by the brass plaque that was mounted on its base. It bore a simple, engraven message in Gothic-style lettering:

SERVICE.

Danny paused a moment, grinning inwardly, but no sooner had he started walking again than his attention was once more stolen by the statue to his _left_. This one was so emotional that it gave Danny a lump in his throat, and though he had never really been interested in art before, he could not help but appreciate the sheer _power_ of the image that greeted his blue eyes.

It was a work somewhat reminiscent of Michelangelo's "Pieta." An old woman, her skin wrinkly and marked with age, contorted her face in an expression of indescribable grief as she silently wailed over the ravaged body of the young man who lay dead at her feet. Like the knight depicted across from him, it was obvious that this fellow was a soldier of some kind, but rather than being outfitted in the elaborate mail and plate of his counterpart, the slain warrior was garbed in a simple tunic and breeches that had been torn and cut on the field of battle, but it was the fletched arrow that protruded from the young man's chest that gave witness to the cause of his demise. The old woman was, Danny inferred, the man's mother, and so great was her pain that tears of stone were clearly visible as they were forever squeezed from the corners of her vision. Again, like the other sculpture, this work of art bore a brass plaque surmounted beneath its woeful image of sorrow. In the exact same Gothic font, it sent a lesson of its own:

SACRIFICE.

Danny's smile vanished for a second, for this concept was not unknown to him. How many nights had he spent fighting ghosts until the wee hours of the morning? How many times had he forfeited his grades and even his own health to protect those around him? And how many times had he come all too close to ending up like the unfortunate fellow shown here?

The ghost boy shuddered. _Don't even go there_, he told himself.

"Danny? Danny!"

The voice of Sam Manson jarred the teen out of his self-reflection. Clad in her signature garb of black shirt, dark skirt, and black combat boots, Danny Fenton's not-so-secret crush grinned sardonically at him.

"Admiring the scenery?"

"Kinda, yeah," Danny admitted, gesturing vaguely behind him. "I guess I got sidetracked."

"I'll say," Sam replied sternly, though her eyes were smiling. "Now c'mon, before Lancer notices that we're _both _missing."

"Right behind you," Danny said quickly, hastening to join the crowd of students who were now cramming and squeezing through the arching doorway.

"I can see why you'd like those," Sam murmured quietly. "It's rather fitting, huh?"

"Sacrifice and service," Danny replied, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The story of my life."

Sam giggled. "Don't you mean _afterlife_?"

"Hopefully not," Tucker Foley interjected as he sidled up next to her, stuffing his hands in his pockets with a casual air. "A half-afterlife, _maybe_, but I don't think anyone's ready for Danny to become _all_ ghost just yet. Well, maybe Dash wouldn't mind, and maybe Paulina too, not to mention Walker and Skulker and-"

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here," Danny said irritably.

"Sorry."

"Quiet back there," Lancer droned. "This is a public building, Mr. Fenton, and we are not the only ones here today. Now follow me, ladies and gentlemen, and try to learn something."

Dash brushed past Danny roughly. "Trying to teach Fen-turd is like trying to get a fish to walk!" he jeered, to the hilarity of the football star's companions.

"And calling _you _a gentleman is like saying Hannibal Lecter has good table manners," Danny muttered, mostly to himself.

Tucker snorted to conceal his laughter. "Nice one, dude."

"Shouldn't evolution have weeded them out eons ago?" Sam growled.

"Nah," Danny smirked, trying to keep the conversation light. "After all, it took centuries to eradicate smallpox."

"Mr. Fenton!" Lancer's warning tone made the young man stiffen. A satisfied smile crossed the teacher's face. Students were all the same.

Seeing that his authority had been re-established, Lancer continued his earlier lecture as he led his pupils down a winding corridor filled with artifacts and pictures from Amity Park's history. His voice took on a lighter cadence as he pointed out various items of sentimental or archeological importance.

"Amity Park was founded in 1836," Lancer began, pointing at a worn, faded, black-and-white lithograph of a large number of people amongst a smattering of covered wagons. "Over 100 brave men and women set out from Philadelphia that year, intent on reaching the Northwest coast. However, inclement weather and faulty navigation resulted in the wagon party losing its way and, eventually, winding up here. Being lost and in unfamiliar territory, the journey took far longer than anticipated. Only fifty-two of the original two hundred pioneers ever reached Amity, and subsequent attacks by Native Americans reduced their numbers even further. For a time, it seemed Amity would simply die out, but by the time of the Civil War the town had made a resounding comeback."

"Which side did Amity fight for?" a student asked.

"The Union, obviously" Lancer answered simply. "This rifle-musket, in fact, belonged to one Lieutenant Colonel Robert W. Fenton of the 201st Minnesota Infantry."

All eyes turned to the weapon Lancer had indicated, resting balefully behind the protective layers of bulletproof glass. It was a rather ordinary-looking object, no different than any other mass-produced gun of its time: its iron barrel, now pocked with a smattering of rusty spots, was as old and weary-looking as the dry, hard timber that formed the rifle's stock and breech. Though it was rather dilapidated in appearance, what made the sight so sobering was the fact that this weapon had obviously seen some fierce fighting. Its wooden surface was chipped, dented, scratched and even scorched in places, its barrel scored and dented by many a bayonet and saber. Even the stock was heavily dented, as if it had been used for some great skull-crushing blow, and Danny felt the hair on his neck stand up at the silent reminder of a bygone era.

The ghost boy turned to his teacher. "You said his name was Fenton?"

"Correct," Lancer said, replying to Danny's query. "I believe he was an ancestor of yours."

"What happened to him?" Sam inquired.

"Lt. Colonel Fenton was slain at the Battle of Chancellorsville," Lancer replied, his voice somewhat sad. "He left a wife and three daughters behind, one of which, Mr. Fenton, was your father's six times great-grandmother. Popular legend says that the Colonel was found with six shots in his chest...and twenty enemy dead lying alongside him. Supposedly he went down fighting."

"Wow," Tucker whistled. "Who knew?"

Danny felt somewhat uncomfortable as many of his peers stared at him. "Yeah…"

Lancer gestured for the group to once again begin moving. "The Mayor will be here shortly to speak with us," he said, his tone growing sharp as the assembled alumni uttered a collective groan. "And if I catch anyone with an Ipod or cell phone out, heads will roll. If any of you need to use the facilities, now is the time," he added.

Danny didn't wait for him to finish speaking. A mist of cold breath escaped from his mouth with a slight hissing sound, and the young hero made a pretense of urgently needing to empty his bladder as he sped further and further down the corridor.

Lancer spared a glance at his fleeing student and seemed about to call Danny back, but a look of resignation crossed his face only seconds later. "Oh, forget it…"

_Minutes later…_

Danny felt a burst of cold air escape from his mouth once more, and the heels of his shoes screeched as he rounded the corner. That meant he was getting closer to whatever malevolent spirit had invaded City Hall, and Danny mentally braced himself for a fight as his sneakers padded loudly on the stone floor. The entire building seemed to be somewhat deserted, and that would have seemed suspicious under any other circumstances, but right now Danny was simply grateful that no one would be around to see him once he transformed into his ghostly alter-ego.

The young hero felt his heart race. _Where is it?_ Danny thought desperately. _I _know _I sensed someth-_

_There_, Danny thought with satisfaction, his enhanced hearing zeroing in on a scattering of muted conversation. Again, his feet pounded the hallway floor like pistons, and as Danny closed the distance a pair of bright rings of bioluminescent energy signaled the activation of his mutated DNA. The trademark "DP" logo and black jumpsuit took the place of his normal T-shirt and jeans, and Danny's hair switched smoothly from raven-black to ice-white. His clear, blue eyes now burned with an eerie green.

Danny Fenton was gone, and Danny Phantom had arrived to take his place.

The hero came to a sudden halt in front of a simple wooden door, and Danny disdained the doorknob in favor of simply passing through it.

With his palms glowing with eldritch energy, Danny Phantom prepared to strike-

But was himself struck almost speechless by the sight of his archnemesis, Vlad Plasmius, standing over the Mayor's charred and brutalized corpse with his palms still smoking. The blackened husk that had once been Amity's leader still had its mouth open in a silent scream, and Danny felt revulsion and fury wash over him in a nauseating tide.

Vlad spared a glance at him. "I was wondering when you'd show up, Daniel," he said in his cultured, aristocratic voice that showed no remorse whatsoever. By his almost conversational tone, Vlad may as well have been discussing the weather. "Pity you didn't arrive in time to save him. I think a hero's greatest weakness is his own infallibility, don't you?"

"You'll never get away with this," Danny snarled, clenching his fists.

"Oh, but that's the beauty of it, Daniel!" Vlad laughed. "I will! But _you _won't." With a dramatic flourish, the villain pressed a red button on the late Mayor's hardwood desk. Danny had no idea what it was for, but to him it didn't matter. All that mattered right now was defeating Vlad.

Danny lunged at his enemy's back-

-But let out a yelp of surprise as Vlad's meaty fist grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the desk, _hard_. The wind left Danny's body in a massive _whoosh_, and he lay there, stunned, as his erstwhile foe glanced at his Rolex watch.

"Fifteen seconds" Vlad said simply.

"What?" Danny couldn't keep the confusion out of his voice.

Vlad gestured toward the red button he'd punched with such flair. "Fifteen seconds…until security arrives. But _I_ didn't kill him," he added, reaching into the folds of his cloak. "_You_ did!"

Then, several things happened at once.

Danny screamed as the twin tines of the Plasmius Maximus sent arcs of agonizing electricity dancing frenziedly over his body, and even while he writhed in pain his archnemesis disappeared into thin air. A blinding flash of light momentarily suffused the room, and Danny Phantom reverted to his human self-

-Just as a dozen heavily armed men and women stormed through the Mayor's office, summoned by the security alarm Vlad had so kindly activated.

Danny felt panic seize his chest as he transformed in front of their very eyes, and the fear and puzzlement with which they gazed upon him turned to anger and cold professionalism at the sight of the Mayor's body and the sinister-looking fork-like device that still lay on the floor.

"Danny Fenton, you're under arrest for the murder of Mayor Sanchez!" one of the cops said. "Cuff him!"

"No-wait-it's not-"

"Save it, _ghost boy_," the officer said flatly. "I imagine there are a lot of people who want to speak to you! First you create that mess with all of those ghost cops, _then_ you cause an all-out invasion, and _now _you've murdered Mayor Sanchez! You're all out of favors and supporters, kid, and your days of terrorizing our city are over! I should have expected as much from a family of ghost freaks; no good ever came out of that hack job your parents call a laboratory!"

Danny sighed as the officer moved to restrain him. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

"For what? For all of the misery and harm you've caused us all with your gallivanting all willy-nilly?" the cop snarled back.

"No," Danny said, his voice quiet. "For this."

With lightning speed, the heroic ghost boy seized an expensive-looking chair and broke it over the cop's head before using its remnants to shatter the office window that stood invitingly only a few feet away. Shards of glass reflected the morning sunlight as they sprayed through the air, and Danny curled himself into a ball to lessen the impact of his immediate landing. The Plasmius Maximus may have temporarily deprived him of his powers, but Danny still had a year of experience to fall back on. He hit the ground running as bullets buzzed by his head like a swarm of angry hornets.

Running on pure adrenaline, Danny cut a zigzag route through Amity's back alleys and thoroughfares so as to elude the cops who were undoubtedly on his tail. He turned a sharp right-

-Only to find that this particular alley led right into a dead end.

The shouts of his pursuers grew louder, and Danny felt his heart almost explode out of his chest with the force of its thunderous tattoo. His eyes glanced left and right, desperately searching for a place to hide-

-There. It wasn't much, but the dilapidated wooden crate looked just big enough to accompany a teenager of Danny's size.

He dove into the wooden old box just as over twenty of Amity's finest caught up with him. It was merely by the skin of his proverbial teeth that Danny avoided being spotted.

The hero had to struggle to keep his breath quiet as the officers fanned out, weapons drawn.

"Where'd that kid get to?" a fat, burly officer asked.

"He probably disappeared," another said thoughtfully. "He can do that, can't he?"

"Well, wherever he is, he's not here," a third declared. "Send out a call to all available units! Hell, call SWAT if you've got a mind to do it! I want that ghost brat found, _pronto_! We know who he is and we know his name, so it shouldn't be _that _hard."

"Want me to put out an APB?" a younger cop asked.

"Absolutely," the older officer replied. "If he thinks he can flee Minnesota, he's got another thing coming! Now, c'mon, before the trail gets cold!"

Danny held his breath for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, long after the last pair of footsteps had receded out of earshot. When he determined the coast was clear, he cautiously emerged from his hiding place-

-Only to be scared almost into his afterlife as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Danny tried to keep the fear from his voice as he answered. "Hello?"

"Ah, Daniel," Vlad's voice, made crackly with static, sounded somewhat amused. "Still alive, I see."

"This isn't over," Danny hissed viciously. "The truth will come out eventually."

"No, it won't," Vlad said, his tone flat. "What are you going to do, expose me? Who would believe you even if you tried? You have lost whatever little credibility you had with Amity Park, Daniel. No one will believe anything you say."

"What do you want?"

"I want you out of my way for good," Vlad snarled. "Dead or incarcerated, preferably dead. You played right into my hand, fool! This was my plan from the beginning! The moment you stepped into City Hall, your fate was sealed!" The villain's voice took on a sadistic edge. "I wonder how it feels, Daniel. The feeling of knowing that I have destroyed and corrupted everything you have worked so hard to build, the knowledge that your little world has been turned on itself! Now all I have to do is sit back and _laugh_ as the people you vowed to defend turn against you! Oh, and by the way," Vlad sneered, "a word of advice, Daniel: ditch the phone. What with GPS and all, they'll be able to track you anywhere. Run, Daniel," he finished softly. "Run, and know that you have _lost_."

The line abruptly went dead, and Danny crushed the expensive piece of machinery under the heel of sneaker. As he did so, a flash of eerie light let him know that the effects of the Plasmius Maximus had finally worn off.

With a grim expression and a heavy heart, the young hero took one last glance at Amity Park before rising into the sky.

For the first time in his ghost-fighting career, Danny Phantom fled.

_Epilogue_

The attractive news anchor flashed a plastic smile at the camera. "This is Tiffany Snow for Amity Park nightly news, with an update on the shocking revelation earlier this afternoon. The notorious ghost boy, Danny Phantom, has been revealed to be the alias of one Danny Fenton, son of prominent ghost experts Jack and Maddie Fenton. The local and state police are working with the FBI, Homeland Security and the NSA to achieve the apprehension of Mr. Fenton, who for the past year has actively engaged in repeated violations of the Ecto-Control Act as well as participating in vigilantism before committing the grisly murder of Mayor Sanchez. The official report states that Fenton resisted arrest and fled the scene shortly afterward, and still remains at large. Therefore, if you have any information on his whereabouts, please call the hotline number on your screen. A monetary stipend has been offered for any tips leading to Mr. Fenton's arrest." Then Tiffany's cheery expression became a little less bright. "This reporter is only left wondering if _anyone _is safe from this hero-gone-bad, and where he will strike next."

Vlad Masters lazily turned off the huge plasma screen TV, and a vicious smile crossed his handsome face as he flipped open an unmarked phone. The villain selected a number from the speed dial, and pressed the set to his ear as someone on the other end promptly picked up.

"Yes," Vlad said, after listening a moment. "Everything is proceeding according to plan…"

A/N: Hey, all! I know it's been a while since I wrote "The New Adventures of Danny Phantom," but I had this little plot bunny and I really thought the idea needed to be explored. XD I hope this first chapter has left you all wanting more, because there is much more on the way! The next installment should be up sometime over the weekend, so the wait shouldn't be THAT bad! ^^ And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas, suggestions, or constructive criticism on how I can make this story better, LET ME KNOW! Will Danny ever clear his name? What will his friends and family think about all this? And what vile plan does the diabolical Vlad Plasmius have brewing? Find out in coming installments!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	2. Chapter 2

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 2: Fallout

(A/N: I'm gonna say one more time that the song I mentioned at the beginning of chapter one goes REALLY well with the first part of this installment. Seriously, you should go to Youtube and pull it up right now. ^^)

_Somewhere…_

It was raining.

In and of itself, this was not a remarkable occurrence, but the steady sheets of cold rain that beat a slow, mournful tattoo on all and sundry was notable because it provided an almost cinematic backdrop for young Danny Fenton's misery.

This was not a thunderstorm or mighty gale. Rather, the clouds overhead were a solid, murky slab of cold grey that occasionally rumbled with the sound of distant thunder as they cast a pall of gloom over all who espied them. The downpour that soaked Danny to the bone and made chills rack his body was not the deluge of the movie theaters, either. Rather, it was possessed of a slow, mournful and sluggish pace that saturated Danny all the way down to his underwear.

The once-proud hero pulled the hood of his jacket even tighter over his head, so as to suffuse the infamous face that now dominated every post office and police station in America. A small shake of his weary head forced sheets of water from Danny's raven hair as he kept his head averted from all who passed him by. How many of them had Vlad convinced with his lies? How many of the people Danny had vowed to defend now howled for his blood in a frenzy of rage and bigotry?

His stomach rumbled, but Danny forced himself to ignore the gnawing emptiness in his belly. He had not had time to grab any money or other necessities before he'd had to flee for his life. He hadn't even had time to try and explain everything to his friends and family.

Danny felt a familiar lump rise in his throat. Doubtless his mother and father and sister thought him some kind of scourge for the crime he'd supposedly committed. And the way his luck was going, Sam and Tucker probably wouldn't want anything to do with him either.

The hero gritted his teeth and clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles grated. Plasmius had cost him _everything_ through the heartless machinations he'd so callously set forth, and the utter _delight_ with which the villain had wrecked Danny's life only made the unbridled fury in his veins boil all the hotter.

Some lucid part of Danny's brain realized the black, morbid emotion he now felt for what it truly was.

For the first time in his life, Danny Fenton felt the bitterness and rage of unrestrained, unfettered, genuine _hate_.

The word in and of itself is vastly overused in common everyday speech, but make no mistake, this was hatred of the purest kind, the blind rage and primal lust for vengeance that for so many countless centuries had made men betray brothers and start wars. Though he wasn't willing to admit it to anyone, even himself, Danny burned with a cold, merciless flame against his mortal enemy while every part of him cried out for the immediate pleasure of ripping Vlad's head off with his bare hands. And despite Danny's attempts to silence it, this lesser part of Danny wantedVlad to materialize right here and right now so that he could kill him and feel the hot spray of his enemy's blood against his skin, and then have Vlad come back as a full-fledged ghost so Danny could blast his foe into a blackened smear of sizzling ectoplasmic grease.

Danny was hungry, cold, wet, broken, and bitter. Vlad's swift and merciless vengeance had left the once-proud hero friendless and homeless while breaking his spirit in such a way that Danny was reduced to an empty husk of the young man he had been only a few days before. The hero was now fighting with himself as much as he was fighting Vlad's schemes. Danny was torn like a piece of rice paper between his unholy thirst for revenge and the inherent goodness that screamed at him to keep fighting the good fight against impossible odds.

The rain continued unabated, and its foreboding thrall completed a masterpiece of misery as Danny Fenton continued his never-ending flight for safety he knew he'd never find.

Danny knew damn well that every law enforcement agency in the country was bent on hunting him down like the animal they believed him to be. Deep down, the ghost boy knew he couldn't outrun them forever.

All the while, the bitterness and anger that festered inside of him like a pool of rancid water threatened to guide Danny Fenton with a dark hand further and further down the ruinous path into the all-consuming void…

_Amity Park_

Despondency reigned inside the familiar red brick structure that the Fentons called home in the wake of the disaster. It was eerily quiet, not unlike the silence of a graveyard with its pervading air of misery that cast a gloomy pall over the once-happy household.

Danny's parents, Maddie and Jack, sat like stone-faced statues upon the living room couch, and Maddie's husband's arms were wrapped around her in a sign of silent reassurance as he tried vainly to comfort his distraught spouse.

"It's got to be some kind of misunderstanding," he said, his tone soft with both tenderness and grief. "I can't believe our son has had ghost powers all of this time and has never told us! But we love him! I wonder why…"

Jazz Fenton, slouching against the far wall, glanced up at this. "Right, Dad," she said sarcastically. "I'm sure all of that ranting about dissection and experimentation had _nothing _to do with it."

"But…he….he…" Maddie couldn't bring herself to finish the description of Danny's supposed crime.

Jazz shook her head vigorously. "No," she said, her voice firm as a rock against a rushing tide. "Danny would never kill another person, Mom. He may be powerful, yeah, but he's not…_evil_."

Maddie began sobbing afresh. "But all of the evidence?"

"It smells like a setup," Sam growled. "Everything about the case just seems _too _airtight."

"Exactly," Tucker Foley said, glancing up from his Nintendo DS. "But the difficult part is gonna be proving all of that."

"And that's assuming we can even find Danny at _all_," Jazz added, wiping her eyes. "We have no idea where he is, or where he's heading."

"Better than abandoning him like everyone else has," Sam whispered to herself. "I'm gonna go upstairs and do some thinking," she declared suddenly, the glint of an idea rushing through her brain.

"You do that, Sam," Jack said absently, running his fingers through his wife's hair. "See if you can think of anything that might help our son."

Sam grinned inwardly as she clomped up the stairs. _I already have_ …

Danny's parents could not have known it, but it was not to anyplace in the Fenton home that Sam headed off to in such a hurry. It was rather to the Fentons' upstairs laboratory that the brave young woman was bound, with only the bare necessities for human travel contained in a hastily packed plastic grocery bag.

Sam took a seat in the pilot's chair, and the swift push of a green button detached the rooftop workspace with a great hiss of releasing air, and two sleek, jet-like wings sprouted from either side to give the metal structure the appearance of some sleek combat airfact. The great whine of the Fenton Jet's engines began to grow louder as she prepared for takeoff-

"Going somewhere?"

"Gaaah!" Sam cried, startled, before whirling around to face whoever was standing behind her.

Jazz and Tucker smiled back. "We thought you could use some help," Tucker said slyly. "We won't do much good sitting around, after all."

"We're coming with you," Jazz declared in a tone that would accept no argument.

A grateful smile split Sam's face. "Then help me get this thing airborne," she said. "The sooner we find Danny, the better."

Jazz sank into a chair behind and to Sam's left, flipping a series of switches as she did so. "Thrusters at one hundred percent," the older girl said with a fierce smile. "Weapons and shields are armed and ready."

Tucker lit up a series of buttons, which glowed a soft, muted yellow as the jet slowly rotated in midair. "Cloaking enabled," he said smugly. "We're now invisible to any radar that might pick us up."

Sam nodded at him as she gripped a large, bar-like lever in her slender hand. A heaving pull set it ratcheting downwards, and the Fenton Jet shot a trail of green flames from its afterburners before it began screeching on its way.

As the G-Forces abruptly forced her back in her seat, Sam gritted her teeth and grimly committed every fiber of her being to the mission she'd set for herself.

"Hang on, Danny," she whispered. "We're coming…"

_Meanwhile, in the bowels of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building in Washington D.C…_

It is a widely held stereotype of law enforcement that coffee is the life force of everyone who wears a badge. Popular shows like NCIS had done even more to reinforce the image of the grizzled cop with a Starbucks cup in his hand, much to the chagrin of police departments and agencies across the country.

But anyone who had ever encountered FBI Agent Thomas Brody knew without a shadow of a doubt that, in his case, the coffee addiction stereotype was not a stereotype as much as a solid fact.

The steaming cup of Colombian dark roast now clutched in Brody's fist was part of a package deal, so to speak.

But even so, despite his "addiction," Brody was widely regarded as one of the most talented agents in his field. The street-smart, tough-as-nails investigator had spent almost two decades bringing America's worst to justice with almost dogged determination.

This was, by far, Brody's greatest strength as an investigator. His sheer persistence and stubbornness in his dedication to closing each case made him an inexorable foe to the criminals he hunted, but even more terrifying than his relentlessness was that he had a cold, almost surgical patience to go with it. Brody was known for waiting months or even years to bring down his quarry, setting up dozens of pieces to fall like dominoes in just such an order when the time was right.

Brody's appearance reinforced his embodiment of the quintessential cop. He was no longer young, that much was certain: Brody's once-black hair was now streaked liberally with gray, and above his short, rounded nose his green eyes were flecked with the telltale silver specks of nearsightedness's onset. It was only for this reason that Brody kept a pair of wire-rimmed glasses in the pocket of his white Oxford shirt, which was in turn partially concealed by the black sport coat he now wore. His slacks were of the same, monotonous color, as Brody preferred functional garb, and the only concession he made to style was the crimson tie he wore at his throat.

Brody was tall, but not as tall as some, and his large hands could move with a dexterity that belied the sausage-like fingers they sported. He sported a hard potbelly that continued to blatantly defy any and all trips to the gym, and a pair of black dress shoes covered his feet. Those feet bore the signs of a lifetime of wear and tear in the form of an ever-present ache that at times made it painful for Brody to walk, and for that reason he kept a bottle of Tylenol close at hand wherever he went. A Sig Sauer semi-automatic pistol, scratched and pitted through years of service, was clearly visible on Brody's hip.

All in all, this was _not _the kind of person one wanted coming after him, but unfortunately Lady Luck had apparently forsaken young Danny Fenton.

Brody had received a memo only just this morning stating that he'd been appointed the leader of a special task force charged with apprehending the villainous ghost boy while being exempted from international customs and extradition treaties, courtesy of the United Nations. Danny was, after all, an American by birth, so it was only fitting that an American lead the investigation that brought him in.

Brody had downed an entire cup of coffee in a single swig after reading the orders from his superiors. Of all the aspects of his work, he hated arresting kids and teenagers the most. For Christ's sake, the Fenton kid was no more than fourteen!

The agent shook his head sadly. He'd seen the exploits of Danny Phantom on the news many times before. How could it be possible, Brody wondered with a touch of melancholy, for someone like that to go from hero to murderer so quickly?

Brody quaffed the rest of his Starbucks before crushing the cup in his fist. Though he hated the idea of hunting down the boy, the fact was that Danny had taken another man's life. No matter what services he'd rendered in the past, Fenton had to answer for what happened in Amity Park that day.

A knock on his office door made Brody abandon his ruminations.

"It's open," he said simply.

The knob turned to admit a tall, spindly, dour-looking fellow with pasty white skin. "Are you coming to the briefing or not?" the man asked.

Brody stood, appraising his new colleague thoroughly. "O'Malley, right? From the CIA?"

"Yes," O'Malley said in his usual mournful tone. "We've met before."

"Yeah," Brody winked smarmily. "I remember. You tried to hinder the Ribben case last fall."

"I did nothing of the sort," O'Malley replied, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Of course not," Brody agreed with false sincerity as he walked out the door. "The CIA always denies everything, right?"

"Save that hostility for the Fenton boy," O'Malley shot back, following Brody into the conference room.

"You're late," a haughty voice declared, before Brody had even begun to pull out his chair at the head of the long, hardwood table. "I hope you are not planning on such idiocy in _all _the debriefings."

Brody glanced at the speaker, and the first thing that came to mind was that the short man in an Army dress uniform had the face of a rat. His cheekbones were sharp and bladed, his nose pointed and curved, and two slightly enlarged front teeth protruded even when his mouth was closed. The man possessed a sneaky, pompous air about him that immediately grated on Brody's nerves, and he couldn't help but picture this man in the role of Igor in _Frankenstein_.

O'Malley took that moment to make a few introductions. "Agent Brody, meet Major Andrew Skyrme. He's the U.S. military liaison for the task force."

"Charmed," Brody said, his voice flat.

O'Malley didn't notice as he pointed down the rows of seats. "Tanya Brentwell, of Homeland Security," he said, pointing to a fair-haired woman on Brody's left. "Benjamin Slate, of the National Security Administration," he continued, and a dark-skinned man with a shining bald head nodded curtly. "Kyosuke Tanaka, liaison to the United Nations." A tall, Oriental man with handsome features smiled genially. "Agents K and O of the Guys in White." The two immaculately clad operatives gave the smallest of nods, their stoic expression never changing. "And lastly…Vladimir Masters, CEO of DALV corporation."

"What is a businessman doing here?" the grim-looking Slate asked. "This is no place for economics!"

"Mr. Masters has agreed to provide us with top-notch equipment and any additional funding we may require," O'Malley said calmly. "By ourselves, we do not have the proper technology to deal with such a…_unique_ threat."

"What's your point?" Tanaka inquired, his voice clipped and soft. "Surely our combined resources would be more than enough to bring this Fenton boy into custody. There is no way he can escape the forces we are all bringing to the table here."

"Did _any _of you read his file?" Brody asked with exasperation. "This kid isn't just some delinquent! He's got abilities right out of Marvel Comics, for crying out loud! He can turn invisible, pass through walls, lift ten times his weight with his bare hands and has…what did you call it again?" he asked O'Malley.

"Ectoplasm," the CIA operative clarified. "We believe that it has somehow mutated Fenton's genetics, and that it is from this that he has acquired his superhuman powers."

"Don't underestimate him," K growled. "Brody's right. As a ghost, Fenton ranks a solid seven on the Ecto-Scale. And that means he has enough power to level an entire city without even breaking a sweat."

That last declaration brought instant silence.

Brody smiled grimly. "Now that we are all aware of the gravity of the situation, perhaps we can begin…"

_Much later…_

Vlad Masters smiled smugly to himself as he walked calmly down the street from the FBI headquarters. What blithering idiots these people were, to play right into his hands!

The ridiculously expensive cell phone buzzed in the pocket of Vlad's Armani slacks, and he flipped it open to hear the voice of his minion, the Fright Knight, on the other end.

"Orders, Master?" the ghost asked humbly.

Vlad grinned maniacally. "The wheels have begun to turn, my servant. You may proceed as planned."

The Fright Knight sounded confused. "But…was not framing the boy the plan?"

"Hardly," Vlad snorted. "That was merely one of the many cogs in my machine. Ruining Daniel was only a preface to the outcome as a whole."

"But you even said-"

Vlad cut him off. "You may recall that I am not an honest person," he stated casually. "I did not want young Daniel to know everything just yet, therefore I lied. He has no idea that his nightmare is just beginning…"

A/N: I'm back, and better than ever! I went to the eye doctor this morning and I am _very _happy to say that, other than a small scratch that will heal with time, my eye has not sustained any permanently debilitating injury. Thank God for that, I say: after all, these eyes are the only pair I've got! XD Thank you all once again for your patience and understanding, and know that the next installment will be up very, very soon! What diabolical plan does Vlad have in mind? Will Jazz, Sam and Tucker find Danny before Agent Brody? And will our hero ever be able to clear his name? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	3. Chapter 3

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom

"_To them, you're just a freak…"- The Joker, "The Dark Knight," (2008)_

Chapter 3: On the Run

_The Southwestern United States_

It was in a particularly disreputable-looking Mexican cantina that saw Danny Fenton, enemy of the world, spending what little money he had in his pocket on the rubbery taco that now slid across the bar to him. The meal itself was an abomination to any kind of decent cooking, but Danny knew he had to take whatever came his way.

It had now been over a week since the setup in City Hall, and Danny had almost destroyed himself in his desperate flight from Amity. So panicked was his exodus that the ghost boy had fled all the way to the little West Texas town in which he now took sustenance. It was a good place to hide out, Danny thought. The population was sparse, the countryside vast, and lawmen few and far in between. Perfect for someone who wanted to remain below the radar.

Danny brought a frosted glass of ice-cold water to his lips, relishing the feeling of the life-giving liquid against his tongue. But as he tilted his head back to drain the cup, Danny brought his shadowed and weary eyes to the ancient television in the corner.

He did _not _like what he saw.

"Danny Fenton claimed that he was a hero," Bill O'Reilly declared. "He said that he was _not _the enemy, and said that we should trust him to protect us. Clearly this is a sign that not only has Fenton failed to restrain himself where his powers are concerned, but also that he simply lacks the maturity to use them responsibly! Regardless of the heroism Fenton has done, or _claims _to have done, we cannot let the cold-blooded murder of a city official go unpunished!"

"Danny Fenton continues to remain at large," the woman on Bill's left continued. "And we went to the folks on the street to find out what _they _have to say about this hero-gone-bad."

The camera cut to a plump woman holding the hands of her two small children. "I'm not gonna let my kids out of my sight until they bring him in," she said. "If that villain is still out there, who knows what he might do?"

"I'd like to know what else is being done," a man in a business suit said crossly. "These are _our _tax dollars, after all."

"I think it's a shame that he's turned out like this," a soft-spoken, younger woman shrugged.

"We should shoot him on sight!"

"Lock him up for study, it's all he's good for now!"

That was enough for Danny. He couldn't bear to watch another minute of _this_, and he stood up abruptly-

-Only to bump jarringly into the large, muscular fellow who'd taken a seat to his left. A pint of tequila shattered on the wooden floor, and the entire establishment went quiet.

The man, a bull-dog faced, greasy soul, slowly stood so that he towered over his intended victim.

"You should watch where you're going, kid," he growled.

Danny stared back, unafraid, his face concealed beneath the hood of his jacket. "So should you."

The thug snarled, grabbing Danny by his shirt collar and hoisting him clear off the floor. "Maybe your ears don't work so well," he hissed. "Should I cut them off?"

"If you try, the appendage that _I _cut off will mean _so much more_ to you than an ear," Danny growled. Normally such hostility was not in his nature, by the past few days had understandably frayed his nerves.

"I'd like to see you try, squirt," the giant laughed, earning a round of contemptuous snickering from everyone within earshot.

A faint, greenish glow shone from the darkness that concealed Danny's now-infamous features, and a week of pent-up rage made him quite literally see red.

"Fine."

Danny seemed to _blur _with the speed with which he broke the man's jaw, and the hooligan's girth made a very satisfying _crash_ as Danny tossed him clear out of the window and into the street.

Satisfying, true, but it also had the unfortunate side effect of drawing in the cops. Danny felt his blood run cold at the sound of rapidly-approaching sirens. With ease borne of continuous practice, he discarded his guise of anonymity and transformed into his ghostly alter-ego.

Consternation reigned among the cantina's patrons, and Danny barely had time to levitate his feet off the ground when…

"Freeze, ghost kid!" an officer shouted, his voice magnified through the bullhorn he held to his lips. "Put your hands where I can see them!"

Danny slowly raised his arms, as if to comply, and the cop nodded to his partner in satisfaction. "Cuff him."

The other man glanced at their supposedly subdued quarry. "What's he doin'?"

The first cop glanced at Danny with confusion that was rapidly replaced with terror. True, the kid had his hands above his head-

-But the white-gloved palms that Danny had raised in the illusion of surrender were now accumulating ectoplasm with a high-pitched whine. The ghost boy had long discarded any notions of restraint because he wanted to ensure that he lived to see the sun go down.

"OH SHIT! GET DOWN!"

_KABOOM!_

Danny focused the blast up and out with a twist of his hands, and the resulting explosion blew the cantina's entire roof into the adjacent alleyway. A fine dust of plaster and tile made it difficult for anyone to see, and while the asbestos in the air made his lungs heave, Danny immediately used the new exit he created to facilitate his getaway.

It was an example of extraordinary bad luck that he was almost in the clear when one of the stunned officers shook off the disorienting effects of the blast. Blinking his eyes to rid them of debris, the cop reached for his gun with still-shaking fingers.

The man, like all of his colleagues, had received his orders. With absolutely no hesitation, he sighted down the handgun's barrel, aimed, and fired.

_BANG!_

The Teflon-clad slug, traveling at an impossible speed, ripped through the flesh and muscle of Danny Fenton's lower left arm with devastating force. A crimson spray soaked his clothes as the hero cried out in pain and surprise, spinning earthward like a downed fighter plane. Normally he would have gone intangible, but understandably, Danny wasn't thinking as clearly as he should have been.

It was not a smooth landing. Danny skidded to a grating halt on the unforgiving sidewalk just yards away from his pursuers, and his mind overloaded with blind panic as he tried to hobble away on his bloody leg.

_BANG!_

Another round chewed the pavement in a very near miss, and Danny fought to concentrate through his agonized haze long enough to become airborne again.

With his entire body running on adrenaline and nerve-wracking fear, Danny lost his usual tendency to hold back in favor of immediate self-preservation. His feet pounding the sidewalk, Danny blindly pointed a hand behind him and let loose another ecto-blast, squarely hitting the squad car's gasoline tank by pure chance. Fifty gallons of gasoline ignited instantly.

_KA-BOOOOOOOOOM!_

The acrid stench of spent fuel and burning debris made Danny's eyes water as the ensuing detonation sent a roiling, mushroom-shaped fireball rocketing skyward amidst a lethal show of red sparks and a spray of razor-sharp debris, and the flaming wreckage, torn clean in half with a grating _r-i-i-i-p,_ spun through the dry Texas air several times before finally landing with a sickening _crunch_. Danny felt a pang of guilt at the startled screams of the pedestrians who now ran for their lives, and he himself only just avoided being knocked flat by the blast's shockwave. The two officers, winded but alive, had been thrown almost five feet by the concussive force of the explosion that Danny had lobbed at them, and the once-proud hero took advantage of the pandemonium to make good his escape once more while his wounded arm hung awkwardly at his side. His clothes were now ragged and torn from the spray of asphalt that had heralded the ruined car's return to earth, and the stinging granules had shredded the fabric of his pants and shirt like a sand blaster while scratching the newly exposed skin. Danny's ears rang painfully, and the only thing he was able to hear at the moment was the thunderous tattoo of his panicked heartbeat. Everyone was screaming, and the ghost boy had to make a conscious effort to keep running while his brain screamed at him to go and render any assistance that might be needed.

But going back was certain death. He couldn't help anyone right now, and Danny Fenton _hated _himself for it.

Danny felt the blood pooling beneath his fingers as he clapped a hand to his injury. It was the same blood that he had, for over a year, so willingly shed in the defense of those who could not defend themselves. It was the same blood that had been spilled so many times by so many enemies, the blood that the legions of malevolent spirits still craved.

And now, it was the same blood that was shed by those whom Danny had so tirelessly protected, flowing freely from a gaping hole torn from a people consumed by hatred and bigotry.

Danny gritted his teeth. There was no other option left but to flee beyond America's borders.

The home he had loved was no longer safe for him…

_The J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Washington, D.C._

Thomas Brody glanced up irritably at the pasty-faced young intern who had so rudely barged into his office unannounced. "This had better be important," he growled, gesturing to the stack of files around his desk. "I'm up to my ass in paperwork here."

"I know that, sir," the younger agent replied, handing Brody an unassuming piece of paper. "But I was told that you should read this immediately."

Brody brusquely snatched the missive, his eyes roving over it at a seemingly impossible speed. "I see," he murmured quietly.

"Sir?"

"Nothing," Brody told the intern. "Sorry I snapped at you like that."

"I understand, sir," his colleague replied. "I've had days like that, too."

"Dismissed," Brody nodded, picking up his office phone, punching in a very special number as he swiveled in his chair.

"O'Malley?" he said, after the person on the other end picked up. "It's Brody. Fenton's been spotted near the Mexican border. I think he might be trying to flee the country.

"And you're sure about that?" O'Malley asked, his voice made tinny by old wiring.

"Well, if I were in his position, that's what _I'd _do," Brody replied confidently. "I've been chasing people like this for over twenty years. I know how they think. Fenton's bound to have realized by now that he can't stay in the States much longer."

"So he will be fleeing south?"

"No, too obvious," Brody murmured after a moment's thought. "It's more likely he'll head overseas. Europe would be my best guess."

"Gosh, that narrows it down," O'Malley said sarcastically.

"You seem to forget just how many people Fenton has after him," Brody snorted. "Think about that for a moment."

O'Malley knew that he spoke the truth. The sheer _number _of agencies and organizations in Brody's network was staggering. "What should I do?"

"Pack your bags," Brody told him. "I want C-17s ready for departure in one hour. We're going after him."

"All of us?" O'Malley asked. "That seems like overkill."

Brody made no effort to conceal his skepticism. "Are you kidding? From what I hear, this boy could handle a whole Army division."

"Point taken, sir," O'Malley replied tightly, just as the line went dead.

Brody scowled as he placed the device back onto the receiver. "_God, _what an asshole…"

_Somewhere…_

Tucker Foley's power nap in the Fenton Jet's metal chair was rudely interrupted as a swift nudge of Sam's boot sent him sprawling onto the riveted floor.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Break time's over," Jazz told him. "They've spotted Danny in Laredo."

"Texas? Cool!"

"This is _not _a pleasure trip, Tucker," Sam growled, punching a new set of coordinates into the Jet's navigation system.

The geek rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Right. I'll, uh, see if I can find anything useful on the web."

"You do that," Jazz nodded. "If the trail in Laredo grows cold, we need other clues to fall back on."

Like a silver fish in a sea of sky, the sleek aircraft banked sharply as it carried its three passengers further and further on their desperate quest...

_Epilogue_

"Flight 244, you are cleared for takeoff."

The crackly voice of the control tower's on-duty personnel was loud in the pilot's ear as he taxied gently down the runway of some obscure Texas airport. Freight and shipping were far more common than passengers on his small aircraft, and therefore he thought little of the abnormally heavy wooden crate that the ground crews had laboriously heaved into the cargo hold. It was probably nothing more than the bags of cow feed that were regularly flown into the far-flung cattle ranches that dotted this part of the countryside, or cement to be shipped to some big construction company.

Neither of these conclusions was correct.

In the chilly darkness below the pilot's shoes, Danny Fenton shivered violently in tandem with the throbbing of his wounded arm…

A/N: Yes, I know it's a little bit shorter than usual, but nevertheless I needed to crank this chapter out before the _real _fun begins! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have an ideas or suggestions on how I can make this story better, LET ME KNOW! In coming installments, more of Vlad's intricate scheme will be revealed, but his true motivations, as well as the final outcome of his final confrontation with Danny, may leave you all very surprised…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	4. Chapter 4

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_They will never stop hunting you…" -Aragorn, "Lord of the Rings"_

Chapter 4: Relentless Pursuit

_Prologue_

_Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean_

FBI Agent Thomas Brody glanced lazily out of the large aircraft's thick Plexiglass window, his ever-present cup of coffee still steaming in his hand. He had always enjoyed flying, even as a child, and now Brody watched, transfixed, as the cold currents of the seemingly endless ocean waves crest and roll as they had for time immemorial. The deep blue depths reflected the sun's light like a thousand sparkling diamonds, and Brody felt his eyes begin to water as the glare was reflected back at him.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for the philosophical type," Vlad Masters said casually, taking a seat next to him. "Ruminating on your troubles, eh?"

"No," Brody said, glancing at the businessman. "Just killing time, I suppose. And wondering how such a good kid could've turned into a murderer. You're an old friend of the Fentons, right?"

"Yes," Vlad said, his voice grave with fake concern. "Daniel's father and I are old acquaintances. I... I don't even want to think about how all of this has affected him."

"You never suspected?"

"Of course not," Vlad shook his head vigorously, slipping effortlessly into the role of a smooth, polished liar. "Daniel was the last person I'd suspect to be the infamous ghost boy."

"I _do _feel kinda sorry for him," Brody admitted, both to Vlad and to himself. "Hell, if I had _this _many people after me, I'd try to make myself scarce too. Maybe he'll get some leniency from the judge, considering the services he's rendered in the past," he added hopefully. "It's just… disillusioning, I guess, that a hero like Fenton could fall so far."

"It is at that," Vlad agreed with apparent fervor.

"Sooner or later, Fenton _will_ be caught," Brody declared, his tone growing firm. "He can't outrun us for very much longer."

"You seem very certain."

"We received intelligence from Texas that Fenton had been seriously wounded while resisting arrest," Brody replied. "The injury will certainly throw him off of his game and slow him down."

"You're right, of course," Vlad sighed dramatically. "I am merely a humble businessman, after all. Who am I to question how you do your job, eh? I therefore defer to your expertise, Agent Brody."

Brody watched his colleague move back down the aisle in between the rows of seats before turning his attention back out of the window. The sight that greeted his wandering gaze would have been enough to chill the soul of even the most hardened criminal.

The C-17 was not alone as it rose like a primeval leviathan into the atmosphere, its engines shrieking a droning dirge of doom while wisps of white trailed over its silvery wings. That seemed to be some kind of signal, for it was not a moment later that it was joined by others of its kind.

In true cinematic fashion, the massive armada broke, one by one, through the icy-colored clouds. So great were they in number that the assembled mass of machinery and steel seemed almost like some terrible school of massive, predatory fish. In their dozens and scores they came, their tails and noses bristling with soot-black machine-gun barrels. In numbers beyond counting they gathered like wolves sensing a kill whilst making the very air throb with the pulse of the airplanes' mighty engines, and it was this relentless pulse that seemed to sound a knell of doom for the hapless hero they now pursued.

With Agent Brody in the lead, the arm of the law reached out, slowly but surely, to clutch Danny Fenton in its hard and unforgiving grasp…

_Central Europe, the French-German Border…_

It would be an understatement to say that Danny Fenton looked like hell. A more accurate description would be to state that he had been starved to the point of emaciation, used as Mike Tyson's substitute punching bag, and smeared with grime and dirt before being lashed by his heels to the back of a car and dragged through the infernal pits all willy-nilly until he collapsed on a bed of nails.

It had been with the last ounce of his once-vigorous strength that Danny had narrow eluded French authorities when the plane had touched down in Aachen. Danny's power was so depleted from constant, panicked flight that he had only managed to hang on to invisibility for several moments before finding his salvation.

That salvation came in the form of a German dairy farmer's battered old truck, and the square-shaped bales of hay that had been stacked high in the vehicle's bed provided the perfect cover. The fact that the elderly man lived in the forested German countryside was an added bonus.

Danny felt a twinge of guilt. The old man had certainly been rather surprised when Danny had so abruptly emerged from his hiding place.

The sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh made Danny turn, once again, to his injured arm. The mere sight of the now-festering wound made his stomach threaten to dislodge what little food he'd eaten.

The days and nights that had gone by since the incident in Laredo had taken their toll. The ragged sleeve of Danny's stained and torn shirt was yellow and stiff with the dried, vile discharge that now seeped slowly from the hole in his arm. The nauseating stench of rotting flesh and infected tissue heralded the onset of a serious infection, and Danny could hardly even move the injured limb without his nerves screaming in pain. Though the bone was still intact, the gangrenous nature of Danny's wound was becoming more serious with each passing day, and having a bum arm was the _last _thing he needed right now.

But sadly, this was not the only part of Danny that had deteriorated.

Danny was desperately hungry. His stomach felt almost sick after days of running on proverbial fumes, and the growls that now emanated from his hungry belly could easily be mistaken for the threatening growl of a ravenous bear. His burning throat was cracked and dry, but there was not a drop of water to assuage Danny's thirst.

The hero would have gladly cut off his ravaged arm in favor of a glass of water or a squall of rain, but the sunny sky overhead held no promise of Nature's handouts.

Inwardly, Danny cursed Vlad long and hard for putting him through all of this, and he felt the bile rise in his throat whenever he recalled the rantings and ravings of those who cried for his immediate demise. How many days could one take of hearing people all over the world denounce him as an abomination and freak of nature? How many times could one endure the tide of hate before it consumed him completely?

Danny could feel the torrent of fury and anger swell in his heart like a growing hurricane of darkness. _Just wait until they need me to save the world or something_¸ Danny thought, his expression made of granite. _I'll bet they'll be singing a different tune then!_

So absorbed was young Danny in his mental rant that he failed to notice the shriek of engines as a _very _familiar-looking jet drew closer and closer overhead…

_At the same time…_

"You're sure it's not another false reading?" Jazz Fenton made no attempt to conceal her doubtfulness as Tucker glanced once more at the small device that now guided their course. The three of them had spent what seemed to be an eternity combing through the most inaccessible and remote parts of the Old World, with no luck so far. They had searched Scotland and England, scoured Ireland, combed through Spain and flown through France, all the while praying that this innocuous-looking piece of Fenton hardware would pick up on Danny's ecto-signature.

But this technology was not precise by any means. Weather patterns and other environmental conditions could easily affect its sensors. Trying to find Danny, it seemed, was like trying to find a needle in a haystack with an even smaller needle while wearing a blindfold and facing backwards.

Tucker tried to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'm _sure _we've got something."

"That's what you said last time," Jazz pointed out.

"And the time before that," Sam added.

"All right, all right, so maybe we've had a few false starts."

"A _few_?"

Tucker glared at them both. "Are you gonna keep ragging on me or let me work?"

"Sorry."

The device beeped with a volume disproportionate to its size. "Ghost directly ahead."

"See?" Tucker grinned smugly.

"I'll believe it when we see Danny," Jazz snorted, guiding the sleek plane lower to the ground.

"Ghost directly ahead. You would have to be an idiot not to see the ghost directly ahead," the tracker stated in its mechanically feminine voice.

"Take us a little lower, Ensign Fenton," Tucker said to Sam, imitating the voice of Captain Kirk from _Star Trek_.

Sam scowled. "How about I aim my _foot _a lower?"

Tucker edged away and hastily changed the subject. "We, uh, should be right on top of it," he declared. "Keep an eye out."

Sam pressed her face to the viewport and was immediately rewarded. "No need! There he is!"

"Danny?" Jazz asked, her voice mirroring the wild hope she felt.

"I think so, yeah!" Sam exclaimed exuberantly, gripping the throttle hard to bring the craft in for an impromptu landing. The noise and wind generated by the Fenton Jet's propulsion systems obviously got Danny's attention, and his first logical conclusion was that his pursuers had caught up to him once more.

He ran for his life, to the consternation of his would-be liberators. But while Jazz and Tucker gave in to their surprise at Danny's unexpected reaction, Sam opened the side entrance to the jet with a swift push on an oversized button and yelled at the top of her lungs. The Goth's desperate cry was almost drowned out by the roaring engines.

Almost.

"_DANNY!"_

The sound of Sam's voice brought a halt to Danny's exodus as surely as any roadblock that could have been placed in his way. Slowly, as if fearing to be proved wrong, the ghost boy turned to lock his blue eyes with Sam's purple ones.

He had her in his arms so fast that Sam briefly wondered if she had gone through a time warp. Though the young man who had stolen her heart so long ago was bloodied, filthy, starved and smelly, Danny was _alive_.

That was all that mattered right now.

Danny sighed with happiness as Sam unconsciously snaked her arms around his neck, and he breathed in her scent as if it were the Almighty's own perfume. The ghost boy held Sam as if she were a priceless treasure that would break if he touched her too hard; his voice, coarse and thick, rasped in her ear as Danny spoke the name like a magic spell that would cure all of his problems.

"Sam…"

The Goth felt her face heat up at the sudden and unrestrained show of affection, but smiled despite her embarrassment. "I was so worried, Danny. I thought…" Sam couldn't bring herself to finish.

As usual, Tucker took it upon himself to ruin the moment. "Are you two done yet?"

Danny and Sam sprang apart like coiled springs, blushing furiously, and Tucker gave a low whistle at the sight of Danny's wretched state.

"You're a mess, dude."

"Thanks, Tuck," Danny said sarcastically, but his eyes showed a trace of his former good humor.

"Let's get you inside," Sam offered. "Are you hungry?"

A bitter smile crossed his face. "You have no idea."

"I'll get the first-aid kit from the jet," Tucker added. "If I remember correctly, there's something in there that might be of use to us."

"Band-aids?" Danny asked hopefully.

His friend winked as he darted inside. "Much better than that, Danny, assuming it works."

"Wait, what?" Danny demanded. "What do you mean, _if _it works?"

"Trust me, man," Tucker grinned, offering an arm to help Danny up the retractable metal ramp. "I've been saving this for a rainy day."

"And that would be…?"

Tucker scooted aside as Danny plopped exhaustedly into the copilot's chair, and the ghost boy didn't feel even remotely reassured as the self-proclaimed geek reached into the small refrigerator marked, "EXPERIMENTAL SUBSTANCES ONLY" in bold, blocky letters. A blast of cold air could be felt as the stainless steel door was wrenched open in Tucker's haste.

After a moment's rummaging, Tucker apparently found what he was looking for. His fist now clutched a wickedly pointed, glinting syringe that was filled with some kind of sickly green fluid, and the viscous liquid emanated an unsettling glow that made Tucker's excited face look rather deranged.

"W-What…Tucker, what _is _that?" Danny demanded.

"The future, Danny," the geek said proudly, looking at the serum with almost fatherly pride. "This bad boy is something I've been sneaking into the upstairs lab to work on whenever you and your folks aren't around."

"Okay…" Sam stared.

Tucker took the hint to continue his explanation. "You remember that G.I. Joe movie we saw a while back?"

"Yeah," Danny said, confused.

"Well, the nanomites used in the movie gave me an idea," his friend elaborated. "What if, instead of destroying stuff, the same technology could be used to _repair _instead?"

"You mean…?" Danny glanced at his infected arm.

"Exactly," Tucker nodded. "Each of the nanoTucks in this syringe carries a tiny sac into which I have injected small amounts of synthetic antibodies, Danny. I have pre-ordered them to destroy any infection they find in human tissue once they have entered your bloodstream. They'll even double as next year's booster shots. I'm not gonna say it's a cure-all," he added warningly. "This should get rid of the infection and bolster your glucose and fat reserves, but that hole is gonna need additional care. And it's still experimental. If my simulations are correct, and they always are, it _should_ work. But even so, I can't be one hundred percent sure."

"What if it _doesn't_ work?" Danny couldn't help but ask.

"Then the nanoTucks will destroy you from the inside."

"_NanoTucks?"_

The geek shrugged defensively. "It's _my _invention, man. I thought I'd take a few creative liberties."

"What do you want to do?" Jazz asked Danny softly. "It's your call."

A wry smile crossed the hero's face. "I've already dodged death twice. I don't think another shot would push my luck any further than it's already been."

"Okay," Tucker nodded, his voice shaking with anxiety as he lifted the evil-looking medical instrument.

The geek knelt to administer his pride and joy, and the stench of infection made Danny's friend cover his nose. "This will hurt," he said flatly, before turning to Jazz. "You're the med school hopeful, right? Then help me find a vein or something."

The older girl clasped Danny's arm tightly, eliciting a hissing intake of breath through his gritted teeth. "Here," Jazz pointed to a spidery blue line that rewarded her efforts.

Tucker didn't waste any more time. The ridiculously oversized needle plunged into the tender flesh, and a squeezing sound reached Danny's ears as the geek sent a swarm of infinitely tiny machines swarming into his blood like some tiny Biblical plague.

White spots of agony danced across Danny's vision as he felt the needle break through the epicenter of his injury. The pain of Tucker's ministrations was so unimaginably torturous that Danny was half-convinced he'd die before the questionable medicine even had a chance to do its job.

Then the moment ended as Tucker withdrew the syringe, and Danny glanced at his arm. "What now?"

"We wait," Tucker said simply. "You should be feeling the effects right about…_now_."

As if on cue, Danny suddenly noticed a burning, tingling itch spreading from his shoulder all the way down to his fingertips, as if a pack of rabid fleas were crawling _inside _of his skin. Everyone present watched in amazement as the pus-ridden, gangrenous filth that had infested the wound on Danny's upper arm receded and then faded altogether before their very eyes. Danny could _feel _the "nanoTucks" attacking and destroying the bacteria-laden pestilence at an astonishing rate, and the strength and mobility that his arm had lost so dearly now returned in leaps and bounds.

Tucker sniffed. "It worked," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "I'm so happy I could cry."

Danny flexed his hand gently, and was delighted when it responded with no more than a slight twinge. "Thanks, Tuck," he said sincerely.

"No prob," Tucker replied. "Just remember who holds the copyrights for those in case your parents get any ideas."

"Deal," Danny laughed, but he stiffened in shock and pain as Sam slathered antiseptic on what remained of his injury. "That stings!"

"Cry me a river," Sam retorted good-naturedly. Her slender fingers worked with dexterity and speed as she bound a generous amount of clean white bandages on Danny's arm.

Jazz plopped a C-ration into Danny's lap, and her brother was tearing through the plastic container before she could even open her mouth. Danny ate with ravenous abandon, his normal cheery demeanor reasserting itself in the presence of those he cared about. The ghost boy felt new energy coursing through his veins, and he took a moment to thank the Powers that Be for having such staunch and faithful friends beside him.

A distant noise, almost like a high-pitched shriek, momentarily diverted Danny's attention. "What's that?" he asked, looking somewhat bemused.

The inquiry was implicitly answered as the deadly artillery shell slammed into the Fenton Jet's starboard engine with debilitating force. The effect was not unlike a puppy being smacked by an eighteen-wheeler, and the sleek plane was almost tipped completely over as smoke and fire belched from its metal plating…

Not too far away, FBI Agent Thomas Brody lowered his pair of Army-issue binoculars and nodded his approval to the smiling gunner of the M1 Abrams tank that had lobbed the offending missile. "One more shot should do it," he instructed without raising his voice. "O'Malley?"

"Yes, sir?" the dour-faced operative asked.

"Once that aircraft is grounded, move in and surround them," Brody ordered. "_Take them alive_. I need Fenton in one piece for interrogation later."

"Do we get to torture it?" the haughty Major Skyrme asked with barely concealed delight. "I was under the impression that that…_thing's _civil rights had been suspended. I think a water-boarding or two would suffice to get a confession from that freak. Maybe we can even get him convicted _without _a trial! It'd save so much paperwork, and we can skip right to the execu-"

_POW!_

The Major staggered as Brody's fist connected with the side of his face. The FBI agent's whole body shook with anger. "You sadistic son of a bitch," he snarled. "If you even _think_ of talking like that again, I'll have you put up against a wall and shot! No matter his crimes, Fenton is still a citizen of the United States and he will be given a fair trial even if I have to go to the President himself to get it! How _dare _you speak of torture and death like some kind of game? Just let me catch you calling Fenton an 'it,' and I swear to God I'll personally sign the death warrant on your career, Major! _Do I make myself clear?"_

Skyrme looked away. "Yes, sir."

"Get out of my sight," Brody growled.

Like a hideous insect, the Major skulked away to brood, and Brody smiled sadly as the tank slowly brought its turret to bear once more. When next he spoke, Brody's voice was loud and clear.

"Ready! Take aim! Set! _FIRE!_"

With a puff of stinging smoke, the sinister machine sent another messenger of death screaming on its way…

_At the same time…_

Tucker groggily righted himself as the Fenton Jet's alarms blared shrilly in his ears. "What was that?"

"Not what," Danny said grimly. "_Who_."

Jazz consulted the computer read out. "They've taken out our starboard engine! If I can just get this thing airborne-"

Any further speech was cut off when a second, remorseless piece of metal peeled black the jet's titanium armor as easily as a can of tuna fish. The four teens were tossed about like beans in a jar, and the acrid stench of fumes made Danny's eyes sting.

Tucker, being well-versed in electronics, was seized with panic as flames began to lick hungrily from beneath the jet's metal floor.

"Oh, crap…EVERYBODY OUT!"

Sam kicked at pneumatically sealed door. "It's locked!"

"Move," Danny murmured, pushing her gently aside as he tried to maintain his focus. The thought of a fiery demise, after all, did little to help one's concentration. The renewed vigor in his body made the ectoplasm in Danny's blood sing a _joyous_ song as he gathered his power about him like a great enveloping cloak.

The instant in which Danny let a blinding burst of ghostly energy explode from his palms was a unit of time to miniscule to measure. The offending door, now heavily dented and battered, sailed skyward as all four of the jet's occupants threw themselves upon the moist, dewy grass.

It was by a hair's breadth that Danny and his companions avoided the scythe of Death that day. No sooner had they exited the plane than it practically _disintegrated_ with the force of the explosion, and the ultra-refined gasoline in the Fenton Jet's engines made the air painful to breathe with its pungent stench. Unlike the explosion in Texas, this work of pyrotechnics gave off more of a sharp _crack _rather than a thunderous _boom_. It almost sounded as if someone had fired an oversized rifle somewhere in the vicinity. The jet's mangled and torn remnants were scattered in all directions, not unlike bolts of hellfire with tails of ash and smoke that spawned from the womb of a blazing, roiling fireball that for a brief instant outshone the noonday sun. Danny winced as a jagged piece of searing-hot metal landed only inches away from his exposed face.

Brody scowled at the tanker. "Idiot! I _said _disable them, not blow them to kingdom come!" Pressing a button on his radio, he asked, "Is everything ready on your end, O'Malley?"

"Yes, sir."

"_Then take them down."_

O'Malley glanced at the grim-faced Spetsnaz operative on his right, and then to the Mossad agent on his left. "Go," he said simply.

Like a scene from a futuristic "Lord of the Rings," the assembled task force moved in for the kill among rank upon rank of hard, Plexiglass shields…

Sam was the first to notice the dire state of her friend's predicament. "Danny, get out of here."

"What? No! I can't just-"

"Do it!" Jazz said harshly. "There's still time for you to escape! We'll be fine!"

"Yeah, man," Tucker agreed, glancing despairingly at the overwhelming odds. "It's over for us."

"But…" Danny felt despair seize him. How could he be parted from his friends so soon after their reunion?

"_GO!" _Sam shouted.

Resignation and bone-deep sadness made Danny's heart sink. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he faded out of the visible spectrum.

Sam felt her eyes begin to water. "Don't be, Danny," she murmured.

O'Malley lunged for his walkie-talkie. "Brody! Fenton's escaped!"

"DAMMIT!" Brody pounded his fist on the tank's metal surface. "Secure the prisoners and fan out! He can't have gone far!"

"Too late," Tucker called to him jeeringly. "Danny's long gone by now."

"You should save your witticisms for the judge, kid," Brody growled. "because by aiding and abetting a known criminal, you've bought yourselves a _world _of trouble…"

A/N: WHEW! That was along chapter! Poor Danny! He just can't catch a break, can he? Will he ever clear his name? What vile plot has Vlad set in motion? And will the world ever trust our hero again? Find out in coming chapters. And PLEASE REVIEW! I want to hear what _you _have to say!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	5. Chapter 5

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 5: Quickening

_An undisclosed location_

Tucker Foley whistled silently to himself, his feet propped up lazily on the sparse-looking metal table that provided the only decoration in the drably gray-colored interrogation room.

It certainly seemed like a dreary enough place. The winking red lights of the video cameras that monitored the three prisoners' every move resembled glowing eyes in the shadowed corners, and the chair in which Tucker sat had certainly seen better days. The floor was grimy, the walls unkempt, and the menacing one-way mirrors that had been installed for surveillance purposes made the hair on Tucker's neck stand on end. The whole point was that his captors could see _him_ without being seen themselves. It was rather unnerving to know that he was being closely observed like a bug in an old jelly jar.

Tucker turned to Sam, who was looking more like a bloodthirsty Amazon warrior woman rather than a fourteen-year-old girl. The furious expression that suffused her features made her companion feel somewhat envious and even ashamed that he found no such well of courage to tap into. Sam clenched and unclenched her fists over and over, and Tucker nervously slid a little farther away from her.

"How are you holding up?" Tucker asked unnecessarily, hoping for at least some modicum of conversation to soothe his nerves.

"Just wait until I get my hands on _him_," Sam growled, referring to Agent Brody. "I swear to God, I'll tear that old fart's spine out with my bare hands and beat him to a blood pulp with it!"

Jazz looked at her, intrigued. "Really? And what brings on these violent tendencies?"

"Stop acting like a shrink," Sam told Danny's sister. "My parents have probably taken me to every stupid psychiatrist in the country after I became a Goth."

"Jeez, Sam, calm down," Tucker said, his face a mask of horror at her brutal outburst. "Jazz was only joking, and honestly, making threats like that is _not _going to help our situation, you know!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam grumbled, conceding the point nonetheless. "So how long do you think we've been in here?"

"Not a clue," Jazz snorted, glancing at her bare wrist ruefully. "They took my watch on the way in."

"My PDA, too," Tucker said mournfully.

"I think a few missing appliances are the least of our problems," Sam grinned wryly. "Do you think they'll play the good cop or the bad cop first?"

"I think these guys'll try good cop before anything else," Tucker said, turning to make an impudently ridiculous face at the observation mirror. "If you _really _wanna piss them off, Sam, try imitating Heath Ledger's Joker while they're talking."

"Or make a donut joke," Jazz snickered.

"I might take you up on that," Sam laughed.

_At the same time_….

Behind the three-inch-thick, bulletproof one-way mirror, the stalwart and stubborn Agent Brody felt his blood pressure begin to rise. Despite all of his attempts to ignore it, these three damn kids were starting to get under his skin. _I must be losing my touch, _the venerable cop thought mournfully. _Maybe I _will _retire once all of this is over and done with. I could move somewhere out in the countryside, where I'll have a bit of peace and quiet…_

The truth hung heavy on Brody's shoulders. Though Sam's threat had been bloodthirsty and more than a little disturbing, she had unknowingly spoken the truth about him. It hurt much more than the veteran cop would ever let on.

Thomas Brody was getting old.

Each passing day made it just a little bit harder for him to rise in the morning, and long hours of sitting in his office chair had started to catch up with his increasingly sore and aching back. Years of using his body hard while fighting the good fight were beginning to take their toll on Agent Brody: he found it more and more difficult to hold his beloved Sig Sauer in a steady grip, his footing was growing unsteady, and his vision was deteriorating after countless hours spent staring at a computer screen. The bones that had once made Brody the most admired agent in the entire Bureau were now becoming brittle with age, and he was only now just beginning to realize that he was an old lion far past his prime.

Mother Nature was collecting her due from him, plus interest.

Brody gathered the ridiculously heavy folder that held Fenton's case file, and his eyes closed for a moment as he made up his mind then and there.

_I won't be of use to anyone for very much longer, _he thought, as he went to squeeze the three teenagers for information. _I don't care if those paper-pushers back in D.C. get down on their knees and grovel. After this, I'm done…_

Tucker started visibly as Brody shoved the door to the interrogation chamber open with a loud _clang_, but the teenager's face became stony and emotionless as his brain figured out what was going on. Sam, too, clammed up instantly while her body almost _oozed _with defiance, and her purple eyes sent a clear and wordless message.

_Bring it on, _they said. _We'll tell you _nothing.

Brody ignored her and turned to Tucker, nodding cordially as he pulled up a dented, slate-grey chair of his own. For all his polite and disarming demeanor, this may as well have been a social call.

"Are you kids hungry?" Brody asked sincerely, and he was. The grilling hadn't started just yet, as far as he was concerned. True, Brody could be remorseless when he had to be, but he wasn't a savage like that arrogant bastard Skyrme. And if anything, the old soldier found that food and water always helped loosen one's lips.

"Don't listen to him, Tucker," Sam muttered. "It's probably drugged or something."

_WHAM!_

Brody slapped his palms on the table, _hard_, and was rewarded as all three detainees jumped in their seats.

_Now_ the interrogation was underway, and Brody kept his voice utterly calm as he asked a simple question.

"Where is he?"

"Who?" Tucker tried to look confused.

"Don't play stupid with _me_, Foley," Brody rolled his eyes. "You know damn well who."

"You can't blame Danny!" Sam cried out, automatically defending the now-shunned and reviled hero. "He hasn't _done _anything!"

"Let's test that theory, eh?" Brody grinned, counting on his fingers. "One, he murdered the Mayor of Amity Park, in cold blood, and then actively resisted arrest. That's two charges right there. Then, he beat the crap out of that fellow in Texas, blew a squad car half to hell, and almost leveled the entire street. That's, let's see…" the agent thought for a moment. "Assault and battery, destruction of property, opening fire on U.S law enforcement officers, _and _resisting arrest… _again_."

"You blew up our jet," Tucker pointed out hopefully. "So I think that makes us pretty even for the car thing."

"And Danny would _never _kill anyone!" Sam protested forcefully. "The only reason he did all that stuff in Texas is because _you _people scared him to death! How would _you _have reacted if the whole world was out to get you? I think self-preservation would be _your _first priority, too! Danny was just trying to make sure that he _lived _to clear his name!"

Brody felt like someone had given him a back massage with a cheese grater. The girl, infuriatingly enough, had a legitimate point: in all likelihood, Fenton wasn't in complete control of his actions the last time he and the law had crossed swords. "So you think he was framed," he clarified.

"Absolutely," Tucker nodded. "We've known Danny for years, man. It's the only way something like this could have happened."

"And did Fenton _tell _you any of this?"

"He probably _would _have," Sam grumbled, "if you jerks had shown up five minutes later."

"You should worry about yourselves," Brody shook his head. "Aiding and abetting is a felony, you know."

"It's nothing compared to what you'll do to Danny," Sam shot back. "You and the rest of those ingrates, who just _jumped _at the chance to peg Danny as the culprit after all he's done for you!"

"Ms. Manson, I don't like the idea of putting away a fourteen-year-old boy in a federal prison any more than you do," Brody turned to her. "Probably less so, in truth, considering how many young people I've had to send to the clink over the years."

"Oh, yes, you're just a _fountain _of sympathy," Sam hissed. "If you had even a shred of fairness in you, then you'd go back and read that case file over there more thoroughly." She nodded to the obese manila folder. "I'd bet _anything _you'd find some things in there that just _don't add up_."

"You'd bet anything?" Brody repeated slowly, an idea coming into his mind.

"Yes."

"Fine, then I'll make you a deal," Brody said seriously, his silver-flecked eyes staring into Sam's. "Care to hear me out?"

The Goth started to reject the offer out of hand, but Tucker, who had managed to keep a clearer head, spoke first. "We're listening."

"I'll go back and read every single page pertaining to the prosecution's case against your friend," Brody stated. "If I find anything fishy, you have my word that I will look into it. And, by way of corollary, if I see something that _can't _be explained, then I'll halt the investigation altogether until I get to the bottom of things."

Sam narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"

"The catch," Brody finished grimly, "is that if you're wrong, you have to tell me _everything_."

Tucker grinned nervously. "But no pressure or anything, right?"

The brave young woman seated across from Brody drew a deep breath. Sam knew she was grasping at straws, but even a desperate chance was better than none at all. It was a big gamble, true, but considering Danny's unimaginable plight, Sam couldn't afford _not _to take it.

"Deal," she said flatly.

Brody fought to keep himself from grinning. The girl may have been a loyal friend, but she was still gullible. There was no _way _Fenton's inevitable plea of "not guilty" would _ever _hold up in court.

He made a show of riffling through the file as he strode absently down the hall to his awaiting desk and uncomfortable chair. There was just _no way, _he thought. The case was rock-solid.

Wasn't it?

Doubt began to gnaw at Brody's gut, but the feeling was swiftly replaced by annoyance and revulsion as the rat-faced Major Skyrme accosted him with a livid expression.

"Why did you _do _that?" he whispered furiously. "You had no reason and no authority to cut a deal with _them! _Those hooligans forfeited their human rights by even _associating _with that abomination, Brody! If you hadn't babied those traitors and just gone a little harder on them, we could be on the creature's tail right now!"

"I'm not about to subject a couple of kids to _your _tender mercies, Skryme," Brody scowled down at him. "Nor will I deprive them of what should never be taken away."

"Just let me in there for a moment," Skryme sniveled. "I can get them to sing like canaries!"

"I'm sure you could," Brody replied, only just succeeding in masking his contempt. "But _I _am the leader of this task force, not you. And _I _will decide my own interrogation methods, thank you very much!"

"My superiors will hear of this," Skryme threatened in his nasally tone.

"If you're trying to intimidate me, you're not doing a very good job," Brody grinned sardonically. "Technically, Major, this entire team does not exist. I am therefore _so far_ out of your superiors' jurisdiction that they couldn't see me with binoculars, and my security clearance lies somewhere between NASA and the freaking _moon_."

Skyrme slunk away, and his boss curled his lip in disgust. _God, I hate him…_

But Brody had no time to brood. There was work to be done, he reminded himself. Brody sighed wearily, feeling his back protest as he sank into the cheap plastic chair in the dimly lit office he'd claimed for his own. With a fluid motion honed by years of practice, the venerable agent whipped out his glasses and set them upon the bridge of his nose, his keen eyes automatically roving over the obese stack of papers.

Brody was nothing if not thorough, and his own conscience would never let him forget it if he didn't go through with his end of the bargain. As he had done so many times before, Brody immersed himself in his duties, forgetting everything else.

_Meanwhile…_

Tucker tried to conceal his anxiety as he rocked back and forth on the hind legs of his seat. "You really think he'll find something?" he asked.

"I'd certainly like to know," Jazz piped up. "The wait is killing me! Is this guy a slow reader or something?"

"Not a clue," Sam told her companion bluntly. "And I can only hope that my hunch was right. This whole thing was a shot in the dark, Tucker."

"Gosh, that _really _makes me feel better," he said, his voice sarcastic. "Here we are, playing Russian roulette with Danny's life, and we have _no idea _what we're doing. If there's a Hell, I'm going there for sure," Tucker added under his breath.

"What would _you _have done, then?" Sam snapped. "You were the one who agreed to it first, you know!"

"She's got a point, Tucker," Jazz agreed. "Any chance is better than none at all."

"True. But all I'm saying is, what'll we do if…"

"If it doesn't work?" Sam finished quietly.

"Yeah."

"Hopefully, we won't have to find out."

Her last statement, bleak and stark in its brutal honesty, killed the mood for conversation. A thick, heavy silence like a bank of nauseating smog made the holding cell's atmosphere almost unbearable, and Danny's loyal friends ceased talking whilst the pall of gloom hung over them.

_Much later…_

O'Malley, the sad-faced CIA operative of dour demeanor, knocked politely on Brody's door before opening it with a slight creak.

Brody promptly slapped the ream of paper down on the wooden desk, stood, and spouted approximately thirty seconds of unprintable obscenity at the sudden intrusion. Once his breathing calmed, Brody growled, "Dammit, O'Malley! I'm working here! You scared the life outta me, barging in like that!"

"I _did _knock, you know," the other man said defensively.

"I must not have heard it," Brody replied, his tone humble in unspoken apology. "As you can see, I was-" he waved hand at the cluttered workspace, "-catching up on my reading."

"The case file?" O'Malley clarified. "Skryme told me you cut some kind of deal with our detainees."

"Yes, I did. And let me tell you, there are some things about this whole case that seem fishy," Brody confided. "It's not apparent at first, but there are links in the chain that are still unaccounted for."

"Enlighten me," O'Malley said. "Despite my best efforts, you've piqued my interest."

"I was reading Fenton's psych evaluation your people provided us," Brody elaborated. "And there is _nothing _in there that even remotely suggests that Fenton is prone to homicidal tendencies or lashing out. Hell, the kid doesn't even have a quick a temper! And yet, he goes on a field trip to Amity's City Hall, waltzes right into Mayor Sanchez's office, and offs him out of the blue? And he just _happens_ to do it _right _before security finds him there, at the _same exact instant _he reverts to his human form? The timing of all of that is just a little _too_ perfect, O'Malley." Brody's voice became more emphatic as he continued speaking. "I mean, think about it: this is a kid who's spent over a year fighting ghosts in secret, seemingly intent on protecting the general public from harm, and all of a sudden he just _throws it all away_? Fenton's _never _tried to pose an active threat before, so why start now?"

"There _was _that incident with all of those ghost cops," O'Malley pointed out. "Witnesses stated that Fenton threatened Sanchez's life on _that _occasion."

Brody shook his head. "No, that was discredited. Further analysis by the GIW revealed that all of the people Fenton supposedly threatened were overshadowed at the time everything occurred, but those white-suited bastards withheld that information to turn the public against the boy. I think Fenton was _framed _that time, O'Malley, and he's probably got more than a few enemies in the netherworld that'd gleefully do it again." The agent banged his fist on the desk, sending papers fluttering toward the ceiling. "I'm telling you, this whole thing reeks of a setup."

"Do you have any proof?" O'Malley asked. "Or even a suspect?"

"No," Brody deflated somewhat. "We know little of Fenton's enemies, and information on those we _do _know of is scarce."

"I believe the three children might be willing to fill you in," O'Malley suggested. "We believe they've assisted Fenton in his…_extracurricular activities_ on numerous occasions."

"Good idea," Brody arched his back with a groan. "I couldn't take another minute in that stupid chair anyway."

While their captor finished lamenting the scourge of poor-quality furniture, an unexpected and most unwelcome visitor quietly checked both ends of the hallway before slipping into the small cubby that lay behind the foreboding and smudged one-way mirrors. He chuckled under his breath as his fingers moved with the dexterity of a spider over the small array of knobs and buttons. All it took was a few calculated pushes on the control panel to shut off the detention chamber's audio and video surveillance systems for exactly thirty seconds.

That time was about twenty-five seconds more than Vlad Plasmius needed. His eyes glinted like twin stars of unfathomable malevolence as he phased through the long window with practiced ease, and the elongated fangs in his mouth added a chilling effect to his otherwise cordial smile.

"Surprise!" he called, in a grotesque imitation of some twisted birthday. "I believe we could all use a change of scenery, wouldn't you say?"

All three of Danny's erstwhile friends jumped to their feet, but it was already too late. Vlad moved with swiftness and brutal efficiency as he carried out yet another stage in his plan.

All it took was a swift, hard jab in the shoulder region to knock each and every one of them out cold.

Vicious pride and sadistic glee filled the despicable villain's every pore, and he gathered up his victims like so many logs of firewood before phasing out of the visible spectrum and through the ceiling.

It was quite literally only a second later when Brody entered the room himself, and the fresh cup of Java roast fell splattering onto the floor. His first instinct was to assume that his prisoners had escaped, but the hand that had flashed to the radio on Brody's belt now hesitated as his eyes were drawn to an object on the grimy steel floor.

It was a PDA. Tucker's _spare _PDA, in point of fact.

Brody's curiosity got the better of him, and he promptly picked the device up off the floor. He noticed that the texting window was still open, almost as if…

The agent's heart began thundering in his chest. _Almost as if someone had intentionally left it there!_

Brody turned his gaze to the screen, and was momentarily confused at the sight of what appeared to be nothing more than gibberish. Tucker's message only read thus:

_v|ac|_

Brody's lips peeled back in a snarl, and he thought the whole was just a taunt, but as he studied the seemingly meaningless garble the symbols and lines turned to letters in his mind's eyes. A moment's consideration was the only time Brody's sharp sleuthing sense needed to make the cipher readable.

What it said shook Brody to his very core, for when properly decoded, Tucker's hastily typed message actually said, simply:

_Vlad._

Brody's entire body began trembling with a mixture of fury, panic, and wounded pride, and Brody fought to keep the wrath from his voice as he pressed a button on his walkie-talkie.

"O'Malley?"

"Sir?" the other man's voice replied promptly, made crackly with static.

"Get me everything you can find on one Vlad Masters," he snarled. "We've been played from the beginning! I want all units ready to move _yesterday!"_

"Yes, sir," O'Malley replied. "Is it safe to assume that we have a new prime suspect?"

"Damn right we do," Brody hissed. "Track him by satellite, track his phone, but whatever the hell you do, _find him! _We _cannot _afford to let him fool us again!_"_

"_Masters _did it?"

"Maybe," Brody said. "I don't have all of the pieces just yet, but I _do _know that Masters absconded with my detainees _anyone noticing!_ Bring him in, _or bring him down!"_

"I will get right on it, sir."

_FentonWorks, Amity Park, several hours later._

The weather was harsh, stormy, and foreboding on that fateful evening. The furious drumbeat of the obese raindrops made the windowpanes shiver and shake with the sheer force of the storm, and the forked ripping streaks of lightning that tore across the sky added an extra layer of menace to Nature's show of overwhelming force. The sky overhead was so black that it turned midday into twilight, and the streets and sidewalks of Amity were awash in miniature rivers of frothing water.

This, of course, did little to help Danny's parents as they sat down to another lonely dinner.

The familiar chime of the doorbell momentarily lifted the cloud of despair that had made the once-happy home of the Fentons; a bleak and miserable place. Jack and Maddie had been despondent ever since the incident at City Hall over a week ago, and thus the prospect of company was a welcome diversion from their sadness and grief.

"I'll get it, Maddie," Jack called, thumping loudly down the hall whilst cradling the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick in his beefy arms. "It better not be another reporter," he grumbled.

The Fenton patriarch shielded his eyes against the almost blinding flurry of precipitation that assaulted him as he opened the door, and Jack had to raise his voice to be heard over the storm.

"Who's there?"

The shadowy figure on the doorstep promptly smiled, and a white-hot streak of lightning made a deafening crack as it momentarily illuminated his vengeful and deranged expression.

"Now, now, Jack," Vlad Masters grinned. "There's no need to shout. It's just an old friend coming to say hello…"

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! Things are just going from bad to worse for poor Danny, aren't they? What will happen to Danny's friends and family? Will Brody catch up to Vlad in time? And what sinister design does the arch-villain have planned? What are his _true _motivations? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If _you _have any ideas or suggestions on how I can make this story more enjoyable for _you _to read, LET ME KNOW! ^^

I know the suspense is terrible, but never fear, my readers.

All will be made clear in time…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	6. Chapter 6

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Your anger gives you great power. But if you let it, it will destroy you."-Ras al Ghul, "Batman Begins," (2005)_

Chapter 6: Vlad's Vengeance! The Final Battle Draws Near!

It was the throbbing, pulsing headache between his temples that finally roused Jack Fenton from the dark depths of unconsciousness. His eyes opened blearily to a world that was fuzzy and out of focus. Jack groaned softly, and tried to rub his aching head-

-But then realized, with a start, that his arms and legs were securely pinned to the metal table that now held him upright. The surface of the slab to which he was bound was cold and hard, and Jack struggled vainly for a few seconds until his memory returned to him.

The chiming sound of a doorbell rang through Jack's skull. He recalled a flash of light, Vlad's grinning face, and then…nothing.

_What on earth is going on here? _Jack wondered, his adrenaline beginning to pump while the last vestiges of sleep's fog disappeared. _This doesn't look like Fentonworks…_

Indeed it didn't. Jack's inner scientist ascertained instantly that this _was _a laboratory of some sort, but it was very different from the beloved workspace in which Jack and his wife had spent so many happy hours tinkering. Rather than the excited, vibrant feel of that hallowed place in Jack's heart, this subterranean lair felt…_wrong. _It was a place that would have been more suited to Dr. Frankenstein rather than a serious scientist. Large, metal globes, studded with metal protrusions, sent arcs of electricity buzzing and crackling in all directions while lending an eerie, intermittent illumination to the spectacle. Test tubes, flasks, beakers, and bottles, filled with liquids of every imaginable shade, bubbled and frothed and fizzed furiously until their contents ran onto the lab tables. Buttons and levers and switches of every imaginable variation glinted and glowed like a myriad of evilly staring eyes, and Jack felt his heart begin to beat just a little bit faster at the unnerving atmosphere.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" From his left, Maddie glanced at her husband with concern. "What happened?"

"I wish I knew," Jack muttered, his normally goofy demeanor replaced by grim urgency. "Where _are _we?"

Maddie glanced sadly at the unconscious forms of Sam, Tucker and Jazz. Inwardly, she envied how oblivious the teenagers were to the peril that had befallen them. "I wish I knew."

From somewhere in the shadows, a third voice answered Jack's inquiry, echoing in the hollow vastness of the underground lab.

"You're in the third circle of Hell, Jack Fenton," Vlad Plasmius snarled, his cape billowing behind him as he closed in on his captives. "And it only gets worse."

"You!" Jack cried, astonished. "You're the Wisconsin Ghost!"

Vlad's red eyes burned into Jack's as he stared balefully back at him, radiating hatred like heat from an oven. "Wrong, Jack," he spat. "You really _are _oblivious, aren't you? I'll bet you never gave me a moment's consideration when I lay bedridden in a hospital for _ten years!_ Ten years of my life stolen because of _you_ and your bungling! Ten years that _I _suffered for _your _mistakes, from _your _miscalculations and base idiocy! Watch, _fool_," he hissed. "And see what your stupidity had blinded you from."

No sooner had Vlad finished speaking than a pair of rings the color of scribe's ink moved over his body with a deliberate sluggishness, and the villain relished the shocked and appalled expression on Jack's stupid face as his black hair turned an icy white that mirrored his cold and frozen heart. Vlad's ember-colored eyes lost their luminescence as they were replaced by their human counterparts, and the swirling cloak and tunic was, inch by inch, reverted to Vlad's signature black suit.

He never took his eyes from Jack's the entire time.

Maddie gave a small gasp. "Oh, my God…"

"It can't be…" Jack said, stunned into momentarily denial. "Vladdie…how…?"

"YOU _DON'T _REMEMBER, DO YOU?" Vlad roared, his voice thunderous as years of pent-up rage and hatred coursed through his veins. "USE YOUR MALFORMED BRAIN, YOU _SPINELESS MORON_, AND SEE IF YOU CAN RECALL WHAT YOU DID TO ME ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!"

The truth hit Jack like a runaway truck. "You mean…"

"_Now _you're catching on," Vlad grinned bitterly, his level tone contrasting the unsettling light in his eyes. "It was the ghost portal experiment back during our college days, you know. You made some minor errors in the prototype's software, and _I _had the misfortune of leaning a little too close when you switched it on. I'm sure you're all too familiar with what happened after that, seeing as how I'm not the _only _half-ghost spawned by your foolishness.

"Unfortunately, my immune system reacted rather poorly to the sudden coating of ectoplasm that you so kindly furnished my DNA with," Vlad continued, "and the ecto-acne that resulted from the imbalances forced me to spend the next _decade _in a hospital wing, racked by pain and suffering the likes of which _you _could never understand."

"But even after I eventually regained my health, even after I became fabulously rich and powerful, I never forgot _you_, Jack," Vlad added, pausing momentarily. But just as the echoes of his speech faded away, Vlad raised his voice once more in such an abrupt fashion that both of his captives flinched. "HOW YOU _RUINED_ ME! HOW YOU _HUMILIATED_ ME! HOW YOU TURNED ME INTO A FREAK AND STOLE AWAY MADDIE, _THE ONLY WOMAN I EVER LOVED! _EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED IN THIS WORLD, _YOU _ABSCONDED WITH WHILE I LAY ON DEATH'S DOOR FOR TEN LONG YEARS! YOU HAD _CHILDREN _BY HER! YOU STARTED A FAMILY THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MINE! NOW I HAVE NOTHING, AND IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF _YOU!_ _I HATE YOU, JACK__!" _Vlad screamed, the retinas in his eyes bulging as he ranted and raved. _"I HATE YOU FOR EVERYTHING THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME! YOUR INCOMPETENCE COST ME __EVERTHING __I EVER HOPED TO GAIN, EVERYTHING I __STROVE__ TO ACHIEVE! I TRIED FOR __YEARS __TO GAIN MADDIE'S HEART, AND YOU __TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME__!"_

Jack couldn't believe the monster his former friend had become. "I never meant for any of this to happen to you," he said softly, his eyes sad. "I'm your, friend, Vladdie! I've always been your friend!"

"_A lot has happened since those days_," Vlad hissed back, and his tone carried so much venom that Jack averted his eyes.

"This isn't about that-"

"_IT'S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT __THAT!__" _Vlad roared, and Jack noticed that the corners of the villains eyes were rapidly moistening. _"_SHE CHOSE _YOU_ INSTEAD OF ME! _I _WAS THE ONE WHO DESERVED MADDIE! _I _WAS THE ONE SHE SHOULD HAVE MARRIED! _I _WAS THE ONLY ONE WORTHY OF HER, AND YET SHE FELL FOR A MORON LIKE _YOU!"_

"I have waited for over _ten years _to _make you pay_, Jack Fenton," Vlad said, his voice at once ragged from overuse and colder than the howling winds of the Arctic Circle. "And I shall take great pleasure in the unbearable suffering and torment that lies ahead for you."

"And once you've killed me?" Jack asked flatly.

"Kill you?" Vlad sneered, his voice gleeful. "That would be _far _too easy. I'm not going to _kill _you, Jack! Perish the thought!" With a swift leap, the villain got right in the other man's face so that their noses were almost touching, and Jack could clearly see the unbridled, psychotic hatred reflected in his old classmate's eyes. When next he spoke, Vlad's voice was soft, almost a purr, and the words that spilled from his mouth were a snake's hiss laced with sickeningly sadistic pleasure. "_I'm going to make you watch. _Behold!"

With a grand gesture of his arm, Vlad signaled for his stoic servant, the Fright Knight, to pull a massive sheet of canvas cloth over a large portion of the lab that had until now remained hidden.

Maddie looked sick. "Are those…"

"Intercontinental ballistic missiles, dearest Maddie," Vlad confirmed. "Each carrying a potent dose of poetic justice in the form of a more refined and virulent strain of the ecto-acne that caused me so much suffering. And I am delighted to tell you, Jack, that the source material for these biological weapons was extracted from the agonizing boils that covered my face for all those years. I had the foresight to keep the sample in cold storage until I needed it. Just as your ignorance afflicted _me, _it shall now afflict the _world_.

"And, because I know you are going to ask me," Vlad added, "it is my unrestrained _glee _to tell you that it was _I _who framed young Daniel. I hate _him _almost as much as I hate _you."_

"Why make Danny and so many others suffer for _my _mistake?" Jack asked. "You have _me_, don't you? Isn't that enough?"

"No," Vlad answered simply. "And as for Daniel, _he _is the true focus of my plan. Framing and exposing him was merely the first step in the overall scheme. _You, _however, are merely a pleasurable distraction." Pausing, Vlad waved to the still-unconscious forms of Danny's friends and older sister. "As are they."

"And what 'scheme' is that?" Jack demanded.

"Oh, please," Vlad snorted. "What do you think this is, a 'James Bond' movie? I'm not about to tell you everything before all of the pieces have been moved into place."

Then Vlad stopped speaking and reached into his pocket. Turning away, the villain fished out and opened his phone so as to begin dialing, to the confusion and bewilderment of his captives.

Someone on the other end picked up, and the villain's heart soared with evil joy…

_Somewhere…_

It was a small, secluded French country town that saw our hero taking temporary refuge on his never-ending flight from the law. The quaint, picturesque little village would have looked right at home on a postcard or in a painting, what with its small cobblestone streets that even in this day and aged clacked and clicked under the wheels of horse-drawn carriages. Shepherds drove their flocks of bleeting sheep before them with nudges and the occasional shout as their ancestors had done for centuries, and the tiny marketplace through which Danny walked was packed with customers of contrasting number to its diminutive size. Mothers held wicker baskets under their arms whilst clutching their small children firmly by the hand, and the haggled and bartered in rapid French with the equally belligerent merchants. It was a good place for one to lay low, to be sure. Nestled quietly in the rolling hillside, virtually isolated from the major cities of concrete and steel, no one would look twice at the young man who now strode through their midst. To these genteel and kindly people, the boy was no different from the American tourists who showed up in town from time to time. Cable and internet were hard to come by in such a remote area too, and this only made the situation work more in Danny's favor.

But most importantly, Danny he was far from the emaciated, wounded wretch that had so narrowly eluded Agent Brody; the townsfolk had actually provided the hero with generous handouts of food. He was almost starting to believe that maybe everything would be all right, after all.

But as he passed the local butcher's table, Danny nearly jumped out of his skin when the streetcorner payphone began to ring shrilly. For a moment, Danny glanced about, thinking the call was meant for someone else, but there was no other person in the immediate vicinity. Apprehension made Danny's stomach clench, and he picked up the receiver with utmost reluctance.

"Hello?" Danny asked, keeping his voice down.

"Are you _actually _still alive?" the voice of his mortal enemy made Danny's blood turn to ice. "_Most _impressive, Daniel. You never cease to defy the odds."

"How did you find me?" Danny asked flatly.

"Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Vlad sneered. "A magician never reveals his secrets, after all."

"If you have something to say, then say it," Danny snarled.

"Why don't I let your idiot father say it for me?" Vlad retorted, and Danny could almost see the villain's smirk as his heart dropped into his innards. "Your mother, perhaps? Or your sister? _Maybe _I should let your little Goth friend deliver my message, eh? Or would you like me to have the geek in the beret email it to you?"

"You bastard!" Danny said hoarsely, for he could clearly make out the distressed cries in the background of Vlad's sinister tones. "They're not part of this!"

"Wrong," Vlad replied. "And they live only by _my _mercy, Daniel, which isn't going to last very much longer. Not unless you listen very carefully to what I tell you next."

"Get on with it," Danny grated, through clenched teeth.

"I give you two options, Daniel, but do not make the mistake of thinking that either one will be even remotely preferable to what you have experienced thus far," Vlad told him. "I have recently completed the construction of a rather lovely batch of missiles liberally laden with a genetically altered form of ecto-acne, one that renders me capable of wiping out an entire city with the push of a button."

"You're bluffing."

"Shall I send one your way, then?" Vlad asked casually. "Maybe when the entire population of France drops to zero, you'll see that I speak the truth."

"You're insane," Danny stated flatly.

"Sticks and stones, boy," Vlad riposted. "And let me tell you, I am quite willing to wipe out every major city on the face of the planet should you insult me like that again."

Danny went quiet instantly.

"Now that the peanut gallery has been silenced," Vlad continued, "I offer you two choices, Daniel. One, you choose to save yourself, and doom millions of people to annihilation. Two, you forfeit your _own _life to save the unwashed masses and be remembered as notorious scourge and a menace, with no one ever knowing of the sacrifice you made on their behalf. I wonder what you'll do," he added pensively. "It doesn't matter, though. No matter what happens, I shall emerge the winner.

"And let me warn you, boy," Vlad hissed. "If I find out that you even went _near _anyone with a badge, and I will, then I shall kill everyone who ever mattered in your miserable life. _I will torture and execute your friends and family, one by one, and I'll make you watch._

"I think you're smart enough to figure out where to find me, once you've made up your mind," Vlad concluded. "You have exactly forty-eight hours, Daniel. Either _you _die, or everyone else _will_."

The connection ended with a loud click in Danny's ear, and the hero sagged against the glass panes as if weighed down by a cocoon of chains.

Vlad's vengeance, indeed, was swift and painful in its awful clarity. No matter where he turned, Danny was bound to lose.

But despite all of the villain's scheming, _no one_ could have predicted the events that would follow…

A/N: Good God, even _I'm _feeling sad for him now…What's poor Danny to do? Has Vlad emerged triumphant once and for all? And will our hero ever clear his name? You'll find out soon enough, my friends. Chapter eight looms on the distant horizon, and in it Danny and Vlad are headed for one last, epic confrontation! And PLEASE REVIEW! I would LOVE to hear what YOU have to say!

And yes, I know you all are dying from suspense and are eager to get the whole picture of Vlad's insidious plot, but there's something that I REALLY want to do for Chapter seven first. ^^ Just be patient a little longer, okay?

After all, good things come to those who wait…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. I apologize for the false Story Alert that may have drawn many of you back here; I was doing some editing and hit "New Chapter" instead of "Replace Chapter." My bad, guys. XD


	7. Chapter 7

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_They may need you right now, but when they don't…They'll cast you out. Like leper."-The Joker, "The Dark Knight," (2008)_

Chapter 7: The Ultimate Price

A storm was gathering.

The wind howled and screamed like a horde of shrieking banshees, and so great was the force of the gale-force gusts and bellows that the trees and shrubbery bent and shook in a frenzied, wild, almost savage dance. The setting sun, as crimson as freshly spilled blood, made the once-pure white clouds seem to burn with sheets of roaring, furious flames even as the coal-black thunderclouds swallowed them whole. This massive, ominous bank rumbled and bellowed with almost constant clashes of thunder and crackling, furious electricity, and so great was their savage, untamed roar that they made the very _molecules_in the air tremble and cringe. At any moment, this terrifying and awe-inspiring show of Nature's unbridled fury seemed ready to pour forth a relentless onslaught of rain and sleet onto the humans that dwelt beneath their great black girth, and so it was that all and sundry trembled and hid so as to escape Mother Earth's wrath.

Danny Fenton looked at the last remnants of that bloody sun, its final rays seeming to stain the air with streaks of crimson gore, and briefly wondered if it was some kind of omen. His fists clenched and unclenched over and over at the impossible dilemma that had been set before him, and though Danny was kind and moral to a fault, he was torn and conflicted as to which option to take. So great was the tornado of conflicting emotions and ethics and thoughts that the young hero found it necessary to step inside a nearby café. The reason for doing so was that he could splash his face with cold water and thereby banish the dizziness that had come with the utter shock of Vlad's merciless cruelty.

The door gave a soft chime as Danny pulled it open, and the elderly Frenchman who was proprietor of the establishment glanced at him.

"Ve weel be closing een less zan thirty meenutes, _monsieur_," the man told Danny in heavily accented English.

"I know," Danny told him, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "I just need to use the bathroom. I'll only be a minute."

"Very well," the Frenchman replied, turning back to his newspaper. "But try to 'urry, no?"

"I will," Danny reassured the old fellow, before slipping into the men's room. His voice seemed distant, though, for Danny's was certainly not focused on the conversation at hand. Even as he took a minute to steady himself whilst the last remnants of horror wore off, Danny's brain resembled an upturned anthill with everything that was flashing through it.

_I don't want to die._

_But if I don't die, I condemn millions to the same fate._

_I'm only fourteen. I... I can't die yet!_

_But do I have a choice?_

_How do I even know Vlad will keep his word?_

_I _don't _know. He might kill them anyway. It would have all been for nothing. I'd have…died for nothing._

Tears threatened to leak out of the corners of Danny's eyes. _I'll…I'll never have a chance to tell Sam how I feel about her. How much she means to me. I should have been braver, should have…_

A sob forced its way up his throat. _I should have come clean with her sooner._

_I don't want to die. God, I don't want to die_, Danny thought fearfully, and soul-searing terror threatened to drown him in a great, nauseating wave. _I mean, I always knew I _would, _someday, but not so soon. Not like this._

Danny's numbing fear made his eyes cross and his knees shake, and he gripped the cheap, imitation marble sink with all the force he could muster.

Though the thought escaped him at the time, Danny's fear of departing the land of the living was by far nothing new. Everyone figures out their own, temporary presence on this Earth when they are fairly young, and it scares many people so bad that they are in denial for some time afterwards. A man could diet religiously, he could exercise often, but none of these things ever helped to stop death. The man could deny it all he wanted, but inevitably, the sun would rise, the Earth would turn, and the day would dawn anew, only _he_wouldn't be a part of it anymore. He'd be still and cold.

The fact is simple, stark, and grim: no one could cheat death. It comes to everyone, sooner or later.

And right now, the Grim Reaper, with his bloody scythe in hand, was galloping toward young Danny upon his infernal, unholy steed.

Danny could almost feel his heart curl up in a ball of fear as he cupped his hands, thus forming a makeshift bowl to catch the liberal amount of clear, freezing liquid that gushed forth from the faucet at his touch.

_There's got to be another way, _Danny thought desperately, raising his dripping face while reaching for a paper towel. _Vlad _can't _win._

"You are _such _an idiot."

Startled by the new, deeper voice, Danny turned back to the mirror, brown paper in hand-

-But an utterly horrified sob escaped Danny's lips at the mere _sight_of the reflection that stared back at him.

Red eyes met his blue ones, and the young hero felt the bile rise in his throat as he looked upon the face that had given him nightmares and haunted his waking hours ever since the horrifying paradox that had brought him into Danny's own time stream. The face, with its arrogant, cruel features, fanged mouth, flaming hair and forked tongue, seemed to be the very image of Satan himself.

Such a comparison would not be entirely inaccurate.

Dan Phantom arched an elegant eyebrow as he continued. "Are you _actually _considering this? Are you such an idealistic fool that you are willing to go to your own demise, to be slain and butchered like a common cow? To be put down like a dog in the kennel? What is _wrong _with you?"

"I…I don't have a choice," Danny said firmly, though his voice shook. "If I don't, then Vlad will plunge the entire planet into a new Dark Age."

"I would choose that last option, if I were you."

"_What?" _Danny couldn't conceal his horror at his evil future-self's callous attitude.

Dan looked at him as if he were stupid. "Why?" the villain asked simply.

"What are you talking about?"

Dan's eyes glowed like red-hot coals on freezing winter night. "Why should you sacrifice yourself for _them_? They denounced you, cursed you, drove you from your home and hunted you like an animal while thirsting for your blood! You bled and suffered quietly for over a _year_, fighting for _their _safety and asking nothing in return! You used your powers to defend these _ingrates, _sacrificing your grades and your _own _well-being, and for what? The moment your identity was revealed, they were on you like a pack of piranha, calling you a freak and a monster! You fought countless battles on _their _behalf, to keep _their _homes and families safe and secure, and in return they tried to have you put up against a wall and shot like some kind of dangerous beast!

"Do you not recall what you saw, with your _own eyes,_back in that Texas cantina? How the citizens, whom you so valiantly fought for against impossible odds, feared that you would steal their children away in the night? How they said that you should be put away forever, to be used as the GIW's _guinea pig_? Are _these _the people you're willing to die for? Do they even _deserve _to be saved from Vlad, after all the hell they put you through? _You owe them __nothing, __Danny! They should __suffer__, long and painfully, for what they've done to you!_

"Fulfill the dark desire you feel deep within you," Dan finished. "Watch with as those spineless fools crawl back to you, mewling and begging for your help, and then take delight in denying them and leaving them to their fate! Let them die, and let this world burn!"

"If I did," Danny said in hushed tones, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself, anyway."

"_That's _because you have this little thing called a conscience," Dan snorted. "But don't worry. You'll grow out of it eventually."

"No, I won't," Danny replied, staring down his greatest enemy of all with a mixture of sadness and dignified but quiet resignation to his fate. "I swore I wouldn't turn into you, and one way or another, I'm going to keep that promise."

"If I _am _to die, I'd rather it be doing something heroic, even if no one else will ever know about it," Danny added mournfully.

"Then you are already a dead man."

"Better a dead man than an evil one," Danny murmured under his breath, making for the bathroom's exit. He opened the door-

-And was almost slain early as the creaking wood opened to reveal an almost solid wall of hard muscle and steel armor.

From within the dark confines of his helmet, the Fright Knight narrowed his eyes into vicious slits as he grabbed Daniel by the arm. "Your choice has been made," he growled. "And now you shall die at the hands of my master…"

Danny didn't try to struggle or break free as the Knight's mail-gauntleted hand grabbed his arm in a tight, painful grip.

Frankly, he didn't see the point in resisting anymore...

_Somewhere…_

FBI Agent Thomas Brody smiled grimly to himself as he consulted the handheld tracker that marked his course. The wheel of the French rental car swerved mightily as he wheeled the old clunker in a sharp left, to the alarmed honking and shrill cursing of those commuters on either side him. With one eye on the road and one on the flat-screened device in his hand, Brody pressed a button on his phone and was rewarded when his colleague, O'Malley, picked up almost instantly.

"You're sure these coordinates are right?" the venerable cop asked.

"Absolutely," O'Malley reassured him. "Apparently Mr. Masters still has his cell phone on his person. Quite surprising, seeing as how devious he was before."

"He never planned for the kid to leave us that note," Brody growled, "or that we'd discover his ruse so quickly. Masters probably thinks we're still chasing our tails right now."

"He's wrong, thankfully," O'Malley agreed. "Now, as I was saying, we have used the GPS on Masters' phone to pinpoint his location, or at least the location of the phone itself."

"And that would be…?"

"The coordinates have led us to an opulent mountainside chateau that is regularly rented out to those who can afford it," O'Malley said. "According to his financial records, Masters has resided there on and off for over ten years now."

"Must be nice," Brody said acidly.

"Want me to get the rest of the men together?"

"No, wait until I give the all-clear. I don't wanna barge in on Vlad until I know _exactly_what he's playing at. Have the entire team on standby and ready to move on my mark."

"I shall await your orders, then," O'Malley replied dutifully. "Good hunting, Brody."

"Hey, O'Malley," Brody spoke before the other agent could sever the connection. "You've been a big asset to this team," he said gratefully. "Thank you."

"You have as well," the other man said, albeit a bit grudgingly. "Everyone knew you were the only choice for something like this."

"Does this mean we have to get all chummy?" Brody asked, his tone playful yet serious. "Because I still don't like you very much, O'Malley."

"That is fortunate, Brody," O'Malley retorted. "Because I'm not very fond of _you_, either."

The CIA operative hung up abruptly amidst a burst of static, and Agent Brody smiled to himself while preparing his nerves for action.

"He always _did _have to have the last word…"

_Epilogue_

It went without saying that Jack and Maddie Fenton had been stunned and utterly appalled at Vlad Masters' maniacal metamorphosis. The insanity and fathomless hatred that had for so many years eaten away at him now returned with a force of such magnitude that it rivaled the deafening tempest brewing outside. So infinite were the boundaries of Vlad's malice and cruelty that the most hardened psychiatrist would have cringed in fear.

But despite the ordeal Danny's friends and family had so far endured, no word in English or any other language could serve to express the utter _horror_they felt as the Fright Knight materialized with Danny Fenton in tow.

The ghost boy was shackled in chains borne from the Fright Knight's own unearthly powers, and the glowing green manacles on his hands and feet rasped and clanked as the subservient minion thrust him roughly forward.

Madness made Vlad's eyes glitter with the depths of his hatred toward all things that bore the name of Fenton, and a sick, sick smile that mirrored his vengeful glee split Vlad's face as he floated over to where a despondent Jack Fenton was struggling mightily against his bonds.

"Danny!" he shouted. "Get out of here, son! Get away from-AAAGH!"

A hard, backhanded slap to the jaw cut off any further speech, and Jack's heart thudded with terror as the Fright Knight grabbed his hair and pulled so hard that his scalp began to bleed slightly.

Vlad's voice rasped from between his fangs, his breath hot and breathless in Jack's ear. "_You __WILL __watch this."_

The madman held out his arm, and the Fright Knight bowed deeply as he gently placed the hilt of his sword, the Soul Shredder, in Vlad's white-gloved palm. The raging storm began to reach fever pitch as Vlad sent Danny kneeling painfully to the floor with a contemptuous kick to the tendons in the boy's ankles, and the hero's raven hair hung over his eyes.

"Oh, God!" Maddie screeched, tears streaming down her face as panic consumed her. "_Not Danny! Not my boy!_"

At his mother's anguished cry, Danny raised his head and smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, Mom," he told her, his voice hushed. "It was either you guys or me. What else could I have done?"

"Danny…" Sam's voice threatened to break. "Please…don't do this…"

The hero turned his eyes to hers when next he spoke, so she could see the truth in what were likely his very last words. "I love you, Sam," Danny said, the sentence simple yet unbelievably powerful in its utter sincerity. "I'm so, so sorry for not telling you sooner."

The Goth, so tough and brave in all other areas, broke down in tears, but no words needed to be said to confirm that the feeling was _very _mutual.

The breath was driven from Danny's body as Vlad kicked him in the ribs, and the monstrous gale reached a deafening crescendo as the Soul Shredder rasped from its sheath. Vlad raised the blade high, its burnished surface seeming to shine malevolently with the anticipation of spilling Danny's blood, and for a moment the villain seemed to take just a few seconds to savor the sweet, unholy fruit of his final victory. Then, with his once-handsome face twisted and marred with unholy delight and remorseless fury, Vlad lifted the glittering weapon directly over the back of Danny's exposed neck. The deep, bass roll of the deafening thunder made all the seas and oceans shake and tremble. The flash of Zeus's wrath that seeped through the sparse windows of the hidden lab reflected off the razor-sharp surface of the cursed weapon, and the blade seemed to glow with an ethereal luminescence all its own. Vlad tightened his fingers and gave voice to a screeching bellow that was borne from the hate and bitterness in his corrupted soul, while his intended victim tried to block out the screams of his loved ones as he quietly prepared for oblivion. But even as Danny waited for death, his mind flashed back to the statues back in his beloved home of Amity, the sculptures that had so poignantly defined what he had become.

SERVICE.

The knight, kneeling as he was now, forever pledging his sword to all that was good and right...

SACRIFICE.

The mother who wailed over the slain body of her son, as he knew his _own _mother would. Brave, faithful Danny, like the slain soldier, was now giving the greatest measure of devotion and bravery...

The air rang with the deadly song of remorseless steel as the Soul Shredder descended…

A/N: I know what you're all thinking: "That Quill is a terrible, wicked person for leaving us hanging like that!" Well, you know what? YOU'RE RIGHT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! But seriously, don't lose any sleep, over this, okay? Chapter Eight _should_be up tomorrow, but it might take me until Sunday to type it since its sheer length is gonna make it a real doozy to type! XD But do not despair, my friends: I_always_deliver on my promises, and I can say for certain that the next installment is gonna be AWESOME! For those of you who have read my fight scenes in previous stories, like Gabry and KichiMiangra, you'll know that I speak the truth. Please be patient a little bit longer, for what happens next will be a sight to behold…

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	8. Chapter 8

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_One shall stand. One shall fall."-Optimus Prime, "Transformers," (2007)_

Chapter Eight: The Last Battle

_Prologue_

_Fifteen minutes ago…_

The beat-up rental car skidded as it swerved sharply into the driveway of the ridiculously expensive and lavish French summer home. A spray of granular gravel rocketed skyward as the vehicle's driver slammed on the brakes, and FBI Agent Thomas Brody was out of the car before it had even finished coming to a halt in the driving and pouring rain.

The agent, now soaked to the bone, blew water out of his eyes whilst he drew, with smooth, practiced motions, the battle-scarred and scratch-covered Sig Sauer from the holster at his waist. Its weight was comfortingly familiar in Brody's callused palms, and the gun's hammer made an ominous _click _as the venerable agent drew it back with his thumb.

Brody kept his head down against the deluge as he quickly and quietly approached the mansion's front entrance. Every muscle and sinew in his body was tightened like a coiled spring, and Brody inwardly shuddered as an ominous feeling came over him. He didn't know what it was, yet, but something was very _wrong _here, and this atmosphere of dread served only to further Brody's desire to get to the bottom of what was _really _going on here.

The agent didn't bother with knocking or any other social niceties one may observe when entering another's home. Brody smiled grimly at the sight of the cast-iron padlock that had been placed around the handle, and its presence was a silent confirmation that Mr. Masters didn't want visitors right now.

Fortunately, Brody really didn't give a damn about what Mr. Masters wanted, nor did he care about the inevitable grilling he'd get from his superiors for going in for an unauthorized sting. He was planning to retire anyway, and thus Brody was almost gleefully looking forward to telling those bureaucratic bastards to shove it up their collective ass without any fear of retribution.

The agent smirked whilst he fished a set of lock picks from his pants pocket. Brody _could _have just broken the door down, of course, but he had long held the opinion that such theatrics were more suited for TV shows like _CSI _rather than in an _actual _police investigation. The now-defunct lock sent up a splash as it landed on the soggy ground, and Brody charged in with his weapon at the ready-

But, to his consternation, there was no one here. In fact, the entire dwelling was utterly deserted, and the labyrinthine hallways and corridors seemed as quiet as a freshly dug grave. There was not a single person to be found. The only noise that could be heard in the seemingly abandoned place was the crackle and hiss of the roaring fire that blazed in the massive hearth.

Brody frowned, stepping cautiously into the opulent parlor. "This can't be right," he told himself. "Masters' phone is still active, the signal is still be transmitted, so why…?"

Something made the hairs on Brody's arms and neck stand straighter than soldiers on parade. He stopped once more, his mind racing. _Was that a draft? There can't be any wind here! All the windows and doors are closed!_

Again, a cold, slight breeze made his skin tingle. The gust itself was so gentle and so almost-nonexistent that it would have been missed by almost anyone.

But Brody was not just anyone.

The flames that cast their eerie orange glow on the room's single occupant validated Brody's theory when the whisper-thin breeze tilted them ever so slightly to the hallway on the agent's left. Brody's eyes silently followed the heading that Providence had seen fit to furnish him with, and his face became grim along with his iron resolve.

"I'm coming for you, Masters," Brody growled, hastening with all of the speed he could muster toward the dark corridor from whence the draft had come. His shoes echoed loudly on the cold, stone floor, and Brody took a minute to wet a finger with saliva before holding the digit aloft.

Like a homing beacon, Brody's makeshift compass guided him like a magnet to iron, and the agent felt his heart beat faster as the cold, drafty breeze grew stronger with each passing step. His palms began to sweat nervously, and Brody shifted his grip so as to get a more secure hold on the handle of his beloved Sig. He rounded the corner like a hunting dog on the scent of his prey, and Brody's chest heaved as he glanced at the downward-spiraling, hewn staircase that seemingly traveled ever downwards till it was lost to sight.

That cold, lifeless breeze sent a chill down Brody's spine, and he hefted his weapon once more as he descended into the darkness…

_Now…_

Danny Fenton waited sadly, quietly, but with extraordinary courage for death to claim hm. He shut his eyes tightly as he heard the Soul Shredder's razor-sharp edge cut through the air as Vlad swung it downward. At any moment, he would feel the metal cut and slice through his flesh, tearing his young life away amidst a spray of blood. His body would die, and the cursed blade would banish Danny's soul to a nightmare dimension forevermore.

Sam's hysterical sobs made Danny's own heart clench whilst Vlad screeched his victory cry, and the eldritch sword swung downwards like a swift guillotine as it closed in for the kill-

"FREEZE!"

At the very, _very _last moment, a gravelly and unexpected cry made all heads turn to the man who now held a gun at Vlad's exposed back. The villain himself was as surprised as his intended victims, and pure reflex made Danny's mortal enemy turn his head to stare down the barrel of Agent Brody's Sig Sauer.

"Whoever or _whatever _the hell you are, you're under arrest," Brody snarled. "Drop the sword, bud."

"A _wonderful _offer, but I think I'll pass, Agent Brody. Surely you can see that I'm a little preoccupied," Vlad sneered, turning his attention away from Daniel for just a moment. "I hardly think _you're _even worth worrying about right now."

"Is that so?" Brody retorted, his weapon never faltering. "_I'm _the one pointing the gun here, you ectoplasmic son of a bitch."

Vlad stared at him disdainfully. "I think I've had just about enough of you," he said, his tone bored as he turned to his minion, the Fright Knight. "Kill him."

The spectral warrior advanced on Brody, and Vlad turned once more to his still-prone enemy-

-Whereupon Danny Phantom's fist made contact with the side of Vlad's head so hard that it made the villain's ears ring shrilly. Vlad staggered and dropped the Soul Shredder from his grasp, stunned by the blow whilst stars burst in his vision.

Vlad had no way of knowing that as soon as his concentration had been diverted, the young ghost boy had half-risen from his kneeling position whilst his hands and even his eyes were glowing with energy the color of sunlight through a mossy pool. The ectoplasm that now flowed and coursed through Danny's veins made his entire body give off a soft verdant aura, and the buildup in his palms began to make the air smell like ozone.

Whether it was fate or coincidence that guided the sword's downward descent, no one knew, but the fact remained that the cursed weapon's pointed tip seesawed and spun before coming to a quivering halt in the floor.

On the way down, its falling edge sliced through Danny's manacles as if they were nothing but paper chains. The ectoplasmic shackles that had confined the hero were severed into pieces like so many links of a sausage, and Danny sent a bolt of glowing green energy blasting away at his foe before the metal had even finished falling to the ground. The wind was driven from Vlad's chest with a great _whoosh _as the force of Danny's strike knocked him off his feet, and the only thing that stopped Vlad's sudden flying lesson was the small crater he made as the villain slammed against a cast-iron pipe with a resounding _clang._

Danny turned to Brody as the agent took a potshot at the Fright Knight. "Get them out of-AAAGH!"

Any further speech on the part of the hero was abruptly cut short as Vlad's blurred shadow slammed into him like a runaway train. His mortal nemesis clutched Danny by the neck so hard that the hero thought his spine would be crushed, and so great was Vlad's sheer velocity that both he and Danny easily punched through the mortar-and-stone walls amidst an explosion of shattered rock and choking dust.

Both hero and evil-doer landed only a sparse few feet from each other, but it took a measure of time far too small to comprehend for both fighters to regain their senses and their footing once more. The tempest raged and ranted as it sent sheets of rain downward with driving winds, as if even the very heavens were eager to witness this last battle between those who embodied the forces of good and evil.

"You can't stop what I have set in motion!" Vlad screeched. "_You will lose this fight, Daniel! YOU ALREADY HAVE!"_

Danny's didn't waste his breath replying, and his snow-white hair was dripping and damp as he took the fight to Vlad, lunging forward and driving a punishing blow into his enemy's innards. Vlad gasped and showed the whites of his eyes, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth, but then recovered and brought his fists together so as to bring a hammer-blow down on the back of Danny's skull. The hero staggered under the punishing double-handed strike as Vlad followed up with a lunge to Danny's ribs, but at the very last moment the hero ducked low to the ground and lashed out with his foot in a sweeping arc. Vlad grunted in surprise as his legs were swept out from under him, and the villain bit his tongue _hard _as Danny met his fall with a sweeping uppercut that rattled the fillings in Vlad's teeth even as the villain lashed out with his foot. The impact of Vlad's boot sent Danny staggering backward as his nemesis spat out blood defiantly, and the villain's fist made an ominous cracking sound as it thudded into Danny's rib cage with devastating force. The hero gasped in pain, coughing a spout of crimson gore as white-hot arcs of electricity danced over the left side of his body, but the fighting skills that had been honed after months of ceaseless combat were running on autopilot. Even whilst he _felt _the bones there shatter, Danny recovered enough to backhand Vlad across the face and lob a volley of disc-like, explosive green energy shrieking like artillery shells in the evil-doer's direction.

Vlad's eyes widened in surprise, and he drew his cloak about him as he immediately turned intangible, and a smirk crossed the villain's face as the ectoplasmic explosives sailed harmlessly past. Lightning streaks of crackling, violent pink flashed and thundered toward Danny as his enemy returned fire, but Vlad's efforts, too, came to naught. The temperature began to drop as Danny felt ice begin forming on his clothes, and he reached for the freezing globe that was the source of his newest ability while the ghost boy's eyes burned like lanterns with an icy blue flame. A howling shockwave of icy energy, wailing a high-pitched dirge, burst forth in all directions the instant Danny thrust his hands outward. So enormous was the power of this chilly attack that the pouring rain was momentarily transformed into a numbing blizzard, and the grass underfoot became fragile and brittle as a myriad of huge, jagged spires of crystal exploded from the soil. The ectoplasm that Vlad had shot at Danny was entirely encased in ice, and the blasts of frozen energy landed clumsily as they fell to earth.

Vlad snarled like a dangerous beast, and all thoughts of self-preservation were forgotten as the psychotic villain threw himself back into the fray, grabbing Danny by the scalp and twisting cruelly before ramming his fist into the boy's face. Danny's lip and nose began leaking red as he twisted his torso and landed a quick, hard jab to Vlad's kidney before coming back around and slamming his elbow into the villain's temple. The villain screeched in the throes of madness, grabbing Danny's wrist and twisting cruelly before nailing the hero with an ecto-blast at point-blank range. The resulting blow threw Danny into the air as if he were made of straw, and his body twisted like a macabre spin top before a multitude of branches and limbs from close-by trees and shrubbery painfully broke his fall amidst a hazardous rain of splinters and tree bark.

Danny only just managed to orientate himself before gravity reclaimed him, twisting around so as to land on his feet, and the soles of his shoes carved deep furrows in the squelching wet loam as gravity reclaimed him. The hero may have been down for a moment, but he was _far_ from out.

So was Vlad.

The diabolical madman blasted clean through any local flora that blocked his path, and the fallen forest giants creaked and groaned before making the earth shudder under the impact of their descent. So great was his insane fury that Vlad utterly demolished anything and everything in his path with reckless abandon and unthinkable barbarity. The villain even went far enough to snap a tree clean and half before seizing its broken and twisted tree stump and swinging it at Danny like an oversized baseball bat.

The hero, to his credit, kept a clear head. Instead of ducking or dodging like he had done so far, Danny rather opted to blast Vlad's makeshift weapon back into its component atoms before it could make contact with his body. Vlad, in, turn, recoiled like a snake from the needle-like wooden shrapnel that flew in all directions, throwing up his hands to shield his vulnerable eyes and face while the splinters shredded his cloak and tunic. Normally he would have gone intangible as he did before, but Vlad quite obviously wasn't operating at full…_mental _capacity right now.

Danny saw the opening and took it. The roiling, viscous-like ectoplasm that began to burn in his now-scarred and aching hands lit up the night like the eyes of some great beast of legend, and the hero bellowed his challenge in unison with the great crash of thunder that split the skies. The twin pillars of solid green energy surged forth in a furious, savage, and untamed manner that mirrored Danny's own vengeful wrath.

But Vlad was no pushover, either. He uncovered his vulnerable optical organs just in time to see Danny's latest blow, and it was but the work of a moment for the villain to tap into the well of his _own_ eldritch power. A monstrous gust of hot air drove Vlad's ragged cloak streaming behind him like a blast from Hell-furnace doors as the madman met Danny's strike with one of his own, and the pinkish hue of Vlad's ecto-rays shined on his malevolent face as he sent the full brunt of his might burning and crackling on its way.

Danny's vibrant green met Vlad's blinding pink halfway in one mighty, thunderous explosion.

There was a blindingly white flash at the exact nanosecond the reaction occurred, a light that for just one, immeasurably short moment lit up the dark and stormy night brighter than the summer at midday, and from its unbearable luminescence was spawned a swirling, massive ball of furious flames. The giant sphere of fiery oblivion boiled and grew until it towered over the treetops like some primeval leviathan from the Earth's creation, trailing a skirt of molten earth and stone as it spread out in all directions of the compass, seeking to devour everything its path with its all-consuming fire. It had a roar, too, a deep, bass sound that one _felt _rather than heard, and its sheer volume was enough to shatter glass and crush eardrums like overripe tomatoes. Trees that had only a moment before been so gloriously _alive _were burnt to blackened twigs, incinerated to ashes, or snapped like matchsticks when faced with such an unstoppable juggernaut. Boulders, tree limbs, and chunks of earth were hurled heavenward by a hurricane-force wind that shrieked and howled like a thousand screaming men, and the air became so thick with ash and smoke that it seared the lungs and stung the eyes.

Both Danny Phantom and his nemesis were thrown all the way back to the mansion where the fighting had started, and the shockwave of the blast had propelled them at such a high speed that the two combatants crashed clear through a plate-glass window, obliterated the adjoining bedroom, and demolished the far wall before finally coming to a stop _out the other side_ so as to land in the adjacent courtyard.

Danny's ears leaked small rivulets of blood into the puddles of rainwater, and his vision blurred and unfocused and his head was still aching and throbbing from the noise. But, impossible as it may seem, the valiant hero tapped into some previously-undiscovered reserve of endurance and slowly, unsteadily, got to his feet. His clothes were now nothing but ragged, soot-stained tatters, and his exhausted body was lacerated, broken bruised and bleeding while his very _bones _ached. The thick panes of glass that had broken Danny's fall left him streaked with a web-like myriad of long, shallow cuts that stained what was left of his garments with slowly oozing crimson.

Vlad had not fared any better. Far from it. His cloak was gone, shorn away by the explosion, and his once-elegant suit was now nothing more than a rag. Vlad's face was bruised and bloody, and he was now sporting a noticeable gap where one of his fangs used to be. Deep gashes ran along his arms so that his hands were dripping with gore, and Vlad struggled to breathe because of the burning stitch in his side where Danny had hit him.

Now Vlad struggled to his feet once more, running on nothing but the sheer force of his bottomless hate as the fighting began once more in earnest. There was no witty banter to be heard here, no repartee or snide remarks that Danny normally spouted at his enemies. Whereas the ghost boy had once been almost playful while performing his heroism, Danny now bore a grim and determined expression that might as well have been carved from granite.

The blood feud that had defined Danny and Vlad's enmity now seemed paltry compared to the bitterness in which this battle was fought. This was now a blow-for-blow, no-holds-barred, tooth-and-nail slugfest between two irreconcilable foes.

The lightning momentarily shadowed Danny's face as he aimed a hard jab to Vlad's solar plexus, but the villain swiftly caught Danny's hand in his own with a speed that belied his injuries. Danny could hear the myriad bones in his hands grate and scrape as Vlad savagely wrenched his wrist back before mercilessly pummeling the side of his face. But as Vlad pulled back for a second strike, Danny lunged forward and rammed his forehead against the base of his mortal enemy's skull. Bolts of agony shot through Vlad's crazed brain, but nevertheless he had enough cognitive functions left to coat his hands in ghostly energy, and the super-heated ectoplasm made Danny's skin sizzle and smoke as his enemy latched onto his arm with scorching-hot fingers. The hero screamed as the flesh of his forearm blackened and charred amidst a smell reminiscent of barbecue, and Vlad laughed callously as his foe writhed and squirmed in the burning grip. But then Danny lunged forward and gripped the horn-like edges of Vlad's hair. Using these as leverage, Danny pulled _hard_ and brought his knee to up to smash the villain's nose like a battering ram before blasting his mortal foe point-blank in the face. Vlad shrieked as the heated energy singed the flesh of his cheek and the tender flesh of his freshly broken olfactory organ, and blood ran out from between his fingers as the villain clutched his face. In his incoherent fury, Vlad blindly lashed out with a powerful haymaker that connected with the side of Danny's jaw amidst a sound like an iron pipe smacking into a wet side of meat. Danny felt a ribbon of something coppery and red on the side of his mouth, but the sensation was ignored as he used his cryogenically-oriented powers to coat his hand in ice before ramming it straight in Vlad's left eyeball. The effect was not unlike getting hit by a gangbanger packing a set of brass knuckles, and a flurry of spots and stars exploded in Vlad's vision. But the villain still had one eye that was working perfectly, and so Vlad used Danny's close proximity to deliver a nauseating, breath-emptying upward punch to the upper chest. Danny was actually lifted off of his feet slightly as the force of the strike made him gasp and wheeze, and Vlad relished the warm flecks of blood that dotted his face as Danny struggled to breathe. Sensing victory, the diabolical madman went to seize the hero by the throat once more-

-But was surprised and appalled when Danny deftly grabbed the unwittingly proffered limb and twisted it sideways so hard that the bone threatened to break. Vlad gasped in pain and shock while Danny's eyes seemed to bore into the blackened mire that had once been his soul, and the hero's hands shone with a gathering bioluminescence as he balefully stared down his mortal enemy.

"All you've ever done is scheme and plot!" Danny yelled, driving his fist into Vlad's jaw once more. "But in the long, run, what's all of that gotten you? You've wasted your entire life in a futile attempt to steal Mom _and _lost your best friend in the process! What do you have to show for all of this, Vlad? What do you have to gain?"

"_As if I'd tell you_," Vlad hissed, spitting out a molar before trying to attack yet again. "You'll know soon enough!"

The madman swiped at Danny's temple, but the ghost boy simply turned his head to one side so as to send the wild swing whooshing past his ear. Then, with strength that was forged of desperation, Danny placed his heated palm against Vlad's chest and _shoved_.

The villain cried out in astonishment as he fell heavily to the ground, but no sooner had his equilibrium been broken than Danny was on him like a hawk upon a chicken. The hero threw himself upon his sworn foe, grabbing the torn collar of Vlad's shirt in his fist as he drew his other arm back.

The sheets of icy rain reflected the forked tongues of flashing electricity that lit up the skies as Danny's fist connected, again and again, with Vlad's already swollen and bleeding face. The skin of the boy's knuckles became bloody from repeated strikes against the villain's skull, and the crimson ichors that spattered his face tainted the gathering rainwater with streaks of gore.

With a heart-rending cry that was spawned by all of the torment Danny had thus far suffered at the hands of his old enemy, the ghost boy interlaced his fingers to deliver a pulverizing piledriver that splintered or fractured many of Vlad's remaining ribs. The fake lawn that had covered the western side of the subterranean lair was practically vaporized-

-As was the plaster-and-bedrock roof that lay beneath it. Enormous chunks of rubble broke and cracked under the enormous strain as the stunned Vlad fell like a downed bird. Sparks and small explosions greeted the boulder-sized wreckage as their descent damaged or destroyed much of the equipment and machinery that Vlad had used for his nefarious purposes, and this had the added bonus of freeing Danny's friends and family when the electronic manacles' circuitry was fried.

And, a stunned Agent Brody thought, the veritable mountain of jagged boulders and splintered iron rebar that had buried the Fright Knight was hardly worth complaining about. The deluge of broken plaster had crushed Vlad's minion just before the ghost had broken Brody in half, and the Soul Shredder skidded along the wreckage-strewn lab as it was released from the Fright Knight's nerveless hands.

Danny gasped as his adrenaline began to wear off, and the full extent of his injuries almost made him collapse with exhaustion. Sam gasped softly at the sight of her battle-scarred and bloodied friend, and all other coherent thought was forgotten as she buried herself, sobbing, into Danny's chest. This is worthy of note because Sam was not a naturally emotional person, but the enormous relief that washed over her thrust aside Sam's normally strong personality and dry cynicism.

He hissed as her arms clutched his injured chest, but Danny did nothing to stop Sam's embrace as he drew her close to him. And despite the fact that _Danny _was the one who looked beaten all to hell, on the verge of collapsing in exhaustion and dripping with blood, the first thing he asked was…

"Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Sam took a moment to steady her shaking voice. "I think so."

"_Not for long."_

The hoarse, ragged edges of Vlad Plasmius' arrogant tones made Danny whirl around, but the villain took advantage of his enemy's consternation and blasted him into a jumble of ruined, furiously sparking electronics. Danny screeched at the top of his lungs as the sudden onslaught of roiling voltage made his body twitch spasmodically, and Vlad never took his eyes from Sam's as he slowly and deliberately picked up the Soul Shredder from where it lay at his feet.

"I always wondered if you two would _ever _get around to doing that," Vlad smirked, backhanding the girl across the face and sending her sprawling. "Pity you'll never have a chance to find out where this relationship goes, eh?"

Though his entire body was twitching in agony at the after-effects of the electrical shock, Danny managed to raise his head enough to discover with horror what Vlad was about to do. The shining blade reflected Sam's terrified face as Vlad caressed its scalpel-sharp edge lovingly, relishing in the Goth's fear before he raised the blade to take her life.

Deep inside Danny, something snapped. Every cell in his body and every minute of his life were instantly dedicated to one simple task.

_Protect Sam._

Retching blood, Danny tried not to scream as he forced himself upright yet again, restoring his now-precarious balance as that singular thought thundered through his brain like a cathedral's booming knell. The hero never even noticed his hand stray outward as his feet began to pound the cracked and dented floor like the pistons of some unstoppable machine, and even the _air _seemed to slow his progress to a crawl while Vlad reversed his grip and began to plunge the blade downward, point-first.

Danny's lungs were starving for air as he drew ever closer, his breath burning as it rasped through his nose and mouth.

_Protect Sam._

Vlad's manic eyes shone with evil joy, and Sam automatically turned away from the sight of her impending doom-

_SHKLUK._

The Soul Shredder fell from the villain's grasp in apparent slow motion, almost as if time had slowed its descent until it clanged loudly at Vlad's feet. The eldritch glow that had shimmered along its length vanished amidst a geyser of blood that splattered the walls and stained the floor, and Sam gasped with breathless horror at the grisly sight that awaited her opening gaze.

Vlad Plasmius glanced down, almost as if puzzled, at the jaggedly pointed piece iron rebar that had so suddenly sprouted from the middle of his chest. What was left of his tunic was rapidly dyed solid red as the villain's still-beating heart forced his life out of him, and Vlad partially turned his head so as to gaze upon the person who had taken his life.

Danny Phantom felt wave upon wave of bitter tears cloud his sight and course down his cheeks until their saltiness mingled with the pouring rain. Rolling thunder sounded overhead, heralding Vlad's death with its earsplitting roar whilst Danny continue to clutch his makeshift weapon.

Strangely, though, Vlad didn't seem angry or scared at the unspeakable act Danny had just committed. If anything, the corners of his mouth tilted upward in a triumphant grin as crimson gore spilled over his lips.

Vlad smiled at the boy who had slain him, and his once-strong voice was now a harsh death rattle as he spoke with his dying breath.

"Well done, Daniel. Well done, indeed."

Then the villain's head sagged whilst the light in his eyes faded, and Vlad Plasmius died. The only thing keeping him upright was the piece of metal that was still embedded in the madman's corpse.

Danny fought against the bile that rose in his throat, and a massive pull finally pulled the weapon free as the rapidly cooling body fell forward like a toppled redwood.

He felt Sam's eyes on him, but Danny couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. A caustic mixture of anguish, grief, and despair fomented inside of him like a burning acid, and Danny felt an enormous weight on his tired shoulders at the sight of what he'd done, at the act he'd sworn never to carry out but had committed anyway.

Silence reigned as Danny's friends and family, Brody included, gathered around him to offer their silent support, and Jack tried to place comforting hand on his son's shoulder.

Danny twitched away. "D-Don't," he said simply, the raw emotion in that single sentence a testament to his guilt.

Jack's eyes were sad as he looked at the fallen body of the man who'd once been his closest friend. "We won't judge you, son," he murmured. "There was no other way."

"Do you know that? Do you? _Do you?"_ Danny asked harshly, whirling around. "Don't you guys get it? _This _was probably his scheme from the very beginning!"

"He _planned _for you to kill him?" Brody asked, bewildered.

"_Of course he did! _Vlad _wanted _me to do it, and he framed and exposed me so that I would _hate _him enough to actually go through with it! He _wanted _me to murder him so that at the end of the day I would be no better than he was! Do you know for _sure _that there was nothing else I could have done? Are you absolutely _positive _that killing Plasmius was the only way to save Sam? We'll _never know, _and that's the whole _point_! Vlad knew that I would always question myself after he died, always _wondering_ and never really _knowing _if there was any other alternative! Haven't you realized it yet? Vlad has _won!" _Danny cried, breaking down completely. "Even in death, he's come out on top!"

"That sick bastard," Brody murmured.

Danny seemed to notice him for the first time. "Who _are _you, anyway?"

"He's the guy they sent to capture you," Jazz muttered bitterly.

The older man flashed his badge. "Agent Thomas Brody, FBI," he stated.

Danny looked up at him, and for a moment Brody thought the boy would attack _him_ next-

-But the agent was taken utterly aback when Danny held his wrists out for the handcuffs to clasp. "You want me? Here I am," the hero said, his voice tired and broken. "You saw what happened, and I will accept the consequences of my actions here today. I don't care anymore, I'm tired of running."

Brody stared at the quiet sincerity in which this boy had so nobly accepted his fate. The venerable cop had known grown men who had cried like babies as he read them their rights, and yet Fenton was willing to submit himself to the scorn and hatred of the entire world without making any excuses or arguments to justify himself.

It was a rare thing to come across one like this, Brody reflected. Deep down, he knew he'd have done the same thing had it been _his _girlfriend's life on the line. In a stroke of extremely good fortune, the few surviving surveillance tapes taken from the lab's security cameras had given him more than enough evidence to vindicate Danny before the feed had been cut by Vlad and Danny's rubble-strewing re-entrance. Thus, there was plenty to simultaneously get the boy in the clear while suggesting nothing of Vlad's untimely demise.

And to be honest, Brody wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd arrested Fenton after all he'd gone through. Such a course of action was not only heartless, but downright _cruel_.

Brody snorted. "I dunno what you're talking about, kid," he said. "I didn't see anything."

"What?" Danny couldn't help looking confused.

The agent sighed. "You know, Fenton, I've been Federal agent for a long, long time. And I've seen a lot of the bad side of life, especially how many people your age go bad. I had a hunch at first, but now I am certain: You're not one of _those _people. You willingly bent under the blade, _literally_, to save those who mattered the most to you, and I honestly don' t know if _I'd _have done the same. You're a rare, special breed, Fenton, one I've seen far too few of after all these years."

Brody paused as he went to the lab's nearly-ruined panel of buttons and levers, and his fingers flew over the keyboard just before an alarm began blaring.

"What are you doing?" Maddie demanded.

"I've activated the self-destruct sequence," Brody replied. "The entire estate will be vaporized in less than fifteen minutes, along with any evidence linked to that madman's demise. No one outside of this room will ever know of what took place here today.

"I know that no apology can be enough, Fenton," Brody said, his voice growing soft. "But I hope that, someday, you'll be able to forgive me for the wrong I've done you."

"I already have," Danny replied, his grin watery but there nevertheless. "Think you can get us out of here?"

"I've already called in a favor with those boys in the Air Force," Brody smirked. "If you'll follow me to my car, I'll give you guys a ride out of here to the rendezvous point."

Jazz glanced nervously at the ticking countdown. "That would probably be a good idea."

_Epilogue_

Danny covered his ears as the hulking C-17 touched down amidst the roaring whir of its engines. Brody's trench coat flapped around his body at the sudden gust of wind, and no sooner had the landed wheels stopped turning than Major Andrew Skryme strutted out from the aircraft's belly. On seeing Danny, his eyes narrowed.

"Oh, good, you _actually _did your job and caught it, Brody," he said scornfully. "Though I wonder why you didn't just shoot that genetic _monstrosity _and save yourself the trouble."

"If you're looking for an execution, I think you'll be disappointed," Brody said sweetly, waving the videotapes that he held in his hand. "I've got enough video evidence here to clear Fenton of all charges."

Skryme stammered and stuttered for a long moment with disappointment on his face, but then he blustered, "Well, _I'll _still be keeping a close eye on it! After all," he sneered, turning to Danny's parents, "a wayward dog deserves to be put down."

Sam cut off the Major's litany of cruel remarks with a well-placed kick between Skyrme's legs. The rat-faced officer collapsed as his face drained of color, but Brody looked profoundly sad whilst he assisted Danny up the boarding ramp.

"_I _wanted to do that…"

A/N: Wow…that was pretty hardcore, eh? It seems there were more wheels turning in Vlad's grand design than anyone realized! But what will happen to Danny as he returns home to Amity? Will his battle-wounds take their toll? And what will happen between him and Sam? Find out in the last, upcoming chapter of "Shatterglass!" And PLEASE review! I think we ALL know how hard fight scenes are to write, and so I would appreciate any thoughts, ideas, or suggestions on how I can make future ones even better! I _will _say, however, that I did my damnedest to make Danny and Vlad's battle appropriately epic, and I can only hope that it meets all of my readers' expectations and lives up to its hype… (*Is nervous*)

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	9. Chapter 9

Shatterglass

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 9: Epilogue

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The slow, high pitched and rhythmic tones of the alarm clock to Danny Fenton's left caused his eyes to open blearily through the fog of sleep. He sat up, yawning cavernously as he pushed the sheets aside in his reluctant bid to escape the still-warm cocoon of fabric and pillows. The flight back from Europe had flown into the States in the wee hours of the morning, and Danny had collapsed in bed without even changing into his pajamas.

Danny hissed in pain as he tried to stretch, and the lightning bolts of protest that came from his bruised and battered body made him grit his teeth. Though he had triumphed over his longtime nemesis (in theory, anyway), that last, tragic battle had taken its toll, a toll that Danny had paid in his own blood.

He hurt. In fact, Danny hurt in places that he never knew he _had_. His face was mottled with a collection of purple, green, and black bruises that offset the deep shadow of his black eye, and he still wore the filthy rags that had once been his clothes. The legs of his jeans were torn, stained, ragged and singed, and his signature T-shirt sported a lovely assortment of singed holes, ripping gashes, and the rusty brown stain of oxidized blood. The arm that had nearly been twisted out of its socket pained its owner abominably, and the stiff, aching pain Danny felt there was enough of a hindrance to render the entire limb incapable of use.

Danny looked less like an American teenager and more like a Dark Age warrior who had just stepped off the battlefield. His ragged and weary appearance gave a silent confirmation of the massive physical trauma Vlad had inflicted upon him, and now Danny drew a sharp intake of breath as he slowly reached for the doorknob. Danny stepped out of his room-

-Only to find Sam waiting for him.

Her eyes were drawn to the sight of his surprisingly muscular torso that the tattered rag on Danny's shoulders subtly displayed. "Who knew ghost fighting would get you so built?" she said slyly.

"Sam, what are you-" Danny was clearly embarrassed. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone home!"

"And face my parents after your secret's out?" Sam snorted. "Not just yet. I need time to convince them that you were framed, 'cause right now they're writing letters to our senator demanding your incarceration."

"Wow, and here I thought _everything _would be different," Danny joked, trying to move past her so as to get to the bathroom and banish the detritus of war from his bruised and tired body. "It's good to know some things never change."

Sam narrowed her eyes as he began to walk past her. "Where are you going?" she demanded in her typical style, grabbing Danny's arm roughly. "C'mere."

So insistent was she that the young hero turned to face her-

-Whereupon Sam promptly pulled on his hand and drew him close to her, pressing her lips to his.

Danny's brain promptly short circuited like a toaster in a bathtub, and his blue eyes became as big as dinner plates with shock and surprise. Sam laced her arms around his neck, pressing so close that he could _feel _her heartbeat against his own, and Danny was not even aware of the fact that his hands subtly wrapped around her waist. His grip was gentle, as if Sam were a priceless treasure that would break if he touched her too hard, and Danny's eyelids closed as he gave in to the unbelievable feeling of his very first kiss.

The hero felt is heart begin to soar as surely as if it had been given wings, whilst a joy unlike any he'd ever known washed away the remnants of anger and misery like footprints before the incoming tide. Some part of Danny's mind that had miraculously remained lucid idly wondered why the hell it had taken the two of them so long to do this. Nothing else mattered right now, not the politicians, not the callous Major Skryme, and definitely not the diabolical machinations of the late Vlad Plasmius. The President himself could have tried to gain Danny's attention right now, and he would have ignored him.

Right now, Danny's world consisted only of Sam.

She broke off the impromptu embrace gently, and Danny felt his face heat up like a furnace while his cheeks turned puce. "You're…good at that," Danny said awkwardly, unable to find the right words for what had just happened.

Sam smiled back at him, taking his hand in her own. "So are you gonna ask me out or what?"

"Yes," Danny replied hurriedly. "Of course!"

"Then say it."

"What?"

"Ask me out, _properly_," Sam told him, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Why should I have to do that? _We just kissed!"_

"Stop whining and grow a pair, you baby."

"_SAM!"_

"You're so gullible," she laughed. "I would've thought _Tucker _would have fallen for that, but not you."

"You are a sadistic person," Danny snorted, but there was no anger in his tone.

"Anyway, you'd better get cleaned up," Sam stated. "Brody called early this morning after he went back to D.C. You've been cleared of all charges, largely due to his report on what happened in France. He wanted me to give you this email, too," she added. "Better hurry up and read it, though. The City Council wants to publicly apologize and honor you in a desperate attempt to save face with the voters. The only reason _I'm _going is so I can give them a piece of my mind," she added.

"Gosh, you're subtle," Danny teased, taking the proffered envelope. "I wish he coulda stayed around for a while, though. Brody didn't seem like such a bad guy."

"I'll be downstairs," Sam said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Jazz and I will wait for you in the car."

Danny nodded absently as he ripped open the missive, and Brody's blocky handwriting greeted his gaze as his eyes roved over the innocuous-looking piece of paper.

_Fenton,_

_I write this at the bottom of the document that I have saved on my desktop computer, the same document that I prepared for the prosecution's __case __against you._

_I've surreptitiously run some satellite scans when my boss has his back turned, and what little remains of Vlad's estate holds nothing to evidence any foul play of any kind. I have seen to it that both the virtual and hard copies of your case file have suddenly disappeared, with the exception of this one. Normally, my own ethics and morals would compel me to bring you in, but I've said already that arresting you after you fought so hard to clear your name would be nothing short of cruel and unusual punishment. You've already gone through more than anyone your age should, Fenton, and you've shown an unswerving dedication to the point that you were willing to throw away your own life for the sake of others, even as they vilified and denounced you as no better than Vlad._

_Between you and me and the printer that is running off this paper, you did the world a service by offing that sick bastard. I've run across a lot of wackos in my day, but this guy even gave _me _the heebie-jeebies. _

_I won't lie to ya, I'm not getting any younger. I've been with the Bureau so long and seen so much violence and corruption, that I'd long stopped believing that anyone was really _pure.

_But then a folder with your name upon it landed on my desk, and I realized that there are still those who fight to keep the light of hope burning in the face of the encroaching darkness._

_Fenton, I would have given almost anything to have been as noble as you at just fourteen. You __are _worthy_ the trust and admiration of everyone around you, Fenton. You have _earned _the right_ _to be recognized and honored for all of the heroism and valor you have shown in the past, and will, I am certain, show in the future. That is why no one can ever know the truth about Vlad's death. Kid, the fact of the matter is that sometimes the truth isn't good enough. __Sometimes, people deserve more._

_Sometimes, people deserve__ a hero upon whom they can depend to watch over them, a man with a pure heart and unquestionable honor._

_Words cannot describe the guilt I feel over what I have done to you these past weeks, but I hope I can count myself fortunate enough to be counted as your friend. _

_You've probably guessed by now that I'm retiring. I've already decided to move up north, near the Rockies, where I can spend the rest of my life in peace and solitude without the bloodshed and anguish that I built my entire career upon. _

_When I am done typing this letter to you, I shall finish cleaning out the contents of my desk and bid goodbye to the coworkers that I have lived and fought beside for nearly twenty years. _

_And then I'm going to delete this file._

_-Brody _

Danny saw a splotchy tear make the ink on the paper run, and he wiped his hands across his eyes before splitting his face in a watery smile.

The hero wouldn't let Vlad's last act of malice and cruelty consume him. At that moment, Danny Fenton renewed his resolve to keep fighting the good fight in the name of all those who could not wage the battle themselves. The world may now know his identity, and his secret may be gone forever, but Danny had the staunch support of his loved ones to keep him going if he ever faltered.

That was something Vlad had never possessed.

There was no trying to change those with opinions like Major Skyrme's. The only thing Danny could do was prove them wrong with his actions.

Danny sniffed again. _Just like the statues._

"Danny! Come on! We're gonna be late!" Sam's hollering snapped him out of his ruminations.

The future lay ahead of him, and as his shoes clumped down the stairs, Danny grinned hugely as he sent out a silent challenge to whatever joys and trials were in store.

_Bring it on._

A/N: D'aaaaaaw! Isn't that just sweet? I gotta say, it has been a BLAST writing this fic, but I have truly been humbled at the unprecedented response that this story has received! XD I was BLOWN AWAY by how many people read and reviewed, and so I want to take a moment to recognize all of you who took the time and effort to give me your feedback! To KichiMiangra, Ember Mclain13, Bubbace, Astro MacPhearson, ToiletFacility, TitanQueen13, acosta perez, jose romero, Punker88, Hinata28h, Codiak, younarteest8, liyit789, pearl84, DBack47, artfan, Iyrsiiea, GollaG, EtaCarinae1, Supersister, CrypticMoonFang, and all the rest, you have my undying gratitude for your readership and well-rounded reviews!

But there is one person in particular that I want to thank: Gabry. Gabry has read and reviewed almost all of my stories, and in fact, he's often the FIRST to review! Old friend, I put forth here in writing my warmest thanks for your continued readership. It is readers like you that keep this site going, and I hope, with utter sincerity, that you will join me on many stories in the future! Thank you so, so much! ^^

And to all my readers, I shall simply say:

I am, and ever shall be,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


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